


Uncovered by Death

by Crollalanza



Series: Scorpius and Lily [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Murder Mystery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 120,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Scorpius Malfoy had wanted on the Saturday before Halloween was to spend some time in Hogsmeade alone with his girlfriend, Lily Potter. But Fate appeared to have other plans. Not only is her annoying cousin Hugo Weasley tagging along, but in the aftermath of a violent storm, a body is uncovered.</p><p>Working with his boss, Head Auror Harry Potter, to discover the identity of the victim, and the truth of her death, Scorpius quickly learns that not all skeletons are buried underground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> This is a the sequel to High. It is not necessary to read that to understand this, but what the heck, you might just enjoy it! 
> 
> Many, many thanks to Kara (Karaley Dargen) for not only beta'ing this story, but putting up with the tortuous search for a title. 
> 
> This story is complete. :D

Scorpius Malfoy was pissed off. He shouldn’t have been. It was the Saturday before Halloween; he was in Hogsmeade and he was walking along the streets holding hands with his girlfriend, whom he hadn’t seen for two months. Moreover she had just given him an early birthday present (the latest book in the Auror Mysteries series, which had only just been published), and was obviously so delighted to see him that all thoughts she might have gone off him now he was no longer at Hogwarts had swiftly evaporated.   
  
He’d looked forward to this day, planning it for weeks once he’d discovered the date of the next Hogsmeade weekend. And as the weekend had approached, he’d become more and more distracted to the mild exasperation of his boss, Head Auror Harry Potter, who’d handed him back the reports he was supposed to be filing with a sigh and a shake of his head. Scorpius had muttered an apology and re-filed them correctly, but had been aware all the while that Harry was amused at him, no doubt divining what was going on in his clerk’s head.  
  
Well, not everything. He had no doubt that if Harry knew the  _exact_  plans Scorpius harboured for his daughter, he’d have made him work all through the weekend and with no break ever again, but, as it was, Harry had no objections to them meeting up in Hogsmeade.   
  
So, he had the blessing of Lily’s dad. She was ecstatic to see him. The Three Broomsticks was heaving with pupils, still excited, and not embittered after the first match of the year. And Lily’s cousins all welcomed him like an old friend.   
  
But now he was pissed off.   
  
It wasn’t the weather (although the black clouds looming were making him rethink his outdoor plans) because he could use it as an excuse to walk her back to the castle. What was pissing him off, and pissing him off to such an extreme that he was finding it hard to keep up a civil conversation, was that he and Lily were accompanied by her cousin.  
  
Normally he got on with Hugo. He hadn’t liked him for a long time, that was true, but then he hadn’t liked any of the Weasleys or Potters. All that had changed when he’d started seeing Lily, and then landed a job as a clerk in the Auror department. He’d grown reasonably close to the family, and they’d had fun together. However, playing endless games of cricket at The Burrow did not give Hugo the right to bloody tag along when it was quite clear that Lily and Scorpius were on a date. Especially as they hadn’t seen each other for two bloody months.  
  
“Does he have to stay with us?” he murmured, taking advantage of the fact that Hugo was staring gloomily into Honeydukes' shop window.   
  
Lily sighed, and squeezed Scorpius’ hand. “He’s upset about his girlfriend ... or rather ex-girlfriend.”  
  
“Yes, I know that,” Scorpius muttered, because Hugo’s face was as sour as a lime. “But he does have other cousins, and a lot of friends, doesn’t he?”  
  
“I can’t very well tell him to get lost, can I?” she hissed as Hugo walked back towards them.  
  
“Why the bloody hell not? I haven’t seen you for two months!” he exclaimed. When she frowned, he tried a different tack. Squeezing her hand, Scorpius halted and stood sideways to her, resting his lips on her cheek as his hand moved to her bum. “I wanted to be alone with you. Thank you properly for the book.”  
  
She smiled coyly at him, but he caught a glint in her eyes and knew exactly what was going on in her mind. Smirking, he snaked his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and started to kiss her.  
  
“Oh ...er ... sorry.” Hugo lumbered up to them. “Do you think we should head back? It’s getting late.”  
  
“Why don’t you go ahead?” Lily suggested. “Scorpius is going to walk me back.”  
  
And for most people, that would be a good enough hint, but not for Hugo, who stared gormlessly at the pair of them and then at the path leading back to Hogwarts.   
  
“Not yet,” he muttered. “I’ll wait.”  
  
Grinding his teeth in irritation, Scorpius turned to Hugo, intending once and for all to tell him exactly where to go, but Hugo wasn’t looking at them. He’d stepped behind Lily but his eyes were fixed on the couple ahead, standing at the path junction, eyes only on each other. Scorpius groaned. It was Genister Avery, Hugo’s ex, wrapped around her new boyfriend.   
  
“Bloody Harper!”  
  
“What’s Harper got to do with it?” Scorpius asked, bemused because Aaron Harper, now a sixth year Slytherin, was a decent enough boy.  
  
“That’s who Genister’s snogging,” Lily hissed.  
  
“What! No, Harper’s a short-arse. That bloke’s far too tall,” Scorpius declared.  
  
“ _That_ was last year,” Lily explained, her voice taking on a slightly breathy quality. “He seems to have grown over summer, and is also rather ... uh ... tanned ... and um ...” Shuffling her feet, Lily glanced towards Genister and Aaron, a faint smile on her face, which turned to a hurried frown when she saw both Scorpius and Hugo glaring at her. “Not that I’m into that sort of look. Very superficial.”  
  
Hugo started to mutter incomprehensible things and scuffed his shoes on the road, but Scorpius, after snorting derisively squeezed her around the waist again.   
  
“Can’t believe that’s Harper. He was such a shrimp last year.”  
  
Lily pursed her lips as she studied the pair. “I think Hugo would like to hex him into fish food,” she whispered. “He really did like her, you know.”  
  
As she stared up at him, her mouth slightly parted and eyes beseeching, Scorpius groaned. “Okay,” he whispered back. “I won’t complain anymore, but this wasn’t how I thought our reunion was going to pan out. I wanted to spend time  _alone_  with you.”  
  
Lily giggled and wrinkled up her nose. “The day’s not over yet, Scorpius. You’re not the only one who can plan things.” On tiptoes, she whispered in his ear. “I have the key for the changing rooms.”  
  
“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, and grinning he hugged her again, even sparing a smile on the scowling Hugo. “Shall we head back?”  
  
“You can’t come up to the castle,” Hugo said, his eyes still on the couple ahead, who had turned the corner on the path back to Hogwarts.   
  
“I’ll walk back halfway,” Scorpius replied smoothly, careful not to catch Lily’s eye, although he could feel her shoulders shaking.   
  
It started to rain, so the three of them pulled up the hoods of their cloaks and headed home. Amongst the last to leave, they should have hurried along the path, but Hugo stalled on seeing Genister and Aaron, so they let the others go ahead and dawdled their way out of Hogsmeade.   
  
And then it really started rain. Not faint drizzle, or soft fat drops, but hard sheets lashing down on them. Catching Lily’s hand, Scorpius tried to run, but the path was muddy and she slipped, falling into him. Then, as a flash of lightning forked through the black clouds, she shrieked and clutched at his cloak.   
  
“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, her face pale. “I hate storms.”  
  
Thunder clapped almost immediately around them, the sound reverberating through the air, before Scorpius could even count the seconds.  
  
“It’s directly overhead,” he shouted. “We should find shelter.”  
  
“We’ll be late back,” Hugo argued.  
  
But looking at Lily’s terrified face, Scorpius knew they had to stop. With a small incline of his head towards Lily, he said to Hugo, “Longbottom’ll understand, won’t he?”  
  
Nodding, Hugo took Lily’s other hand and between them they quickened their pace, searching for some cover. The shed could not have come too soon. Hidden off the main path (which had become treacherously muddy), the ramshackle hut had no glass in the windows, and there was a hole in its thatch, but at least they would be safe from the howling wind and lashing rain. The door creaked as Scorpius pushed it open, and the smell of damp, mould and Thestral shit hit him almost immediately, but it was shelter, and that’s what Lily needed.   
  
“What are we waiting for?” Hugo asked.   
  
“Checking for Thestrals,” Scorpius replied. “I don’t think they’d hurt us, but -”  
  
“You can see Thestrals?” Hugo sounded intrigued. “Who have you seen die?”  
  
“My granddad,” Scorpius replied vaguely, not elaborating. “There’s nothing here.”  
  
But as they all stepped over the threshold, a rustling sound from corner caused Scorpius to flinch. Suddenly the hut didn’t seem as welcoming, and he held his wand aloft.  
  
“Who’s there?” called someone.  
  
Scorpius lowered his wand, and grinned. “It’s Scorpius, Harper. Sorry to ... er ... disturb you.”   
  
“Fantastic,” muttered Hugo. “All I bloody need.” He stepped backwards, about to walk out of the door, but another flash of lightning followed by a crash of thunder rent through the air.   
  
“You can’t go out in that,” Lily implored. “Seriously, Hugo, anything could happen.”  
  
“I’ll risk it. It’s better than being in-”  
  
He didn’t finish his sentence, for at that moment, another bolt of lightning flew through the air. In horror, they all heard a loud crack.   
  
“That’s a tree,” Scorpius yelled, and pulled Hugo away from the door. “Come on, there’s no way you can go out in that.” He glanced across to Aaron and Genister, who had now emerged from the corner, both lighting Lumos on their wand tips. Hearing the tree fall, they looked fearfully through the hole in the roof, but all they could see was a canopy of leaves swaying in the wind.   
  
“It must have missed us,” Aaron muttered.  
  
“Yeah, I think we gathered that!” Hugo snapped.  
  
They glared at each other. Beside Aaron, Genister was brushing something off her robes. She smiled hesitantly at Scorpius, and stepped towards him. “Hi there. It’s good to see you again. I hear you’ve started working as an Auror. Wow, that must be exciting. Have you solved any major cases yet? Are you living at Malfoy-”  
  
“You’re babbling,” Scorpius muttered under the cover of another rumble of thunder.  
  
“Well, this is awkward,” she whispered back. “For Merlin’s sake, Scorpius, you’re practically the only person that hasn’t split up or argued with someone here.”  
  
It was a fair point, although he could have pointed out to Genister that he and Lily had split up once before and it hadn’t been at all an easy ride to this moment in time. He cleared his throat, and started to answer her questions, explaining that he wasn’t an Auror, but a clerk, and that he wasn’t living back at the manor but was sharing a flat above Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes in Diagon Alley.  
  
“Who are you sharing with?” she asked, keeping the conversation flowing.  
  
“Benedict Macmillan,” he replied. He grinned across at Aaron, who was starting to look less uncomfortable, although he was keeping a wary eye on Hugo as he fiddled with a camera hanging around his neck.  
  
“I didn’t know you were a photographer,” Scorpius said.  
  
Aaron nodded, and shifted closer to him and Genister. “Bit of a hobby,” he mumbled.   
  
“It’s more that that!” Genister interrupted and turned to him warmly. “Aaron’s going to help Professor Trescothick with Camera Club - as his assistant.”  
  
“How ... interesting,” Scorpius replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. He knew he’d failed when he heard a stifled giggle coming from Lily, who quickly assumed a bland expression when Hugo snorted derisively.  
  
“I don’t know why you find it funny!” Genister snapped. “Aaron’s earning money and -”  
  
“What does he need money for?” Hugo argued. “His dad’s a bloody millionaire.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s my  _dad,_  Weasley,” Aaron retorted. “Unlike you, I’m not living on handouts.”  
  
“I work!” Hugo protested. “I pull shifts during the holidays at the shop.”  
  
“Does he?” Scorpius mumbled to Lily, who frowned at him.   
  
“He did at Christmas, but then he mixed up Bulbadox Powder with Geranium root when he was sorting through the stock cupboard and was covered in boils for a week,” she whispered.   
  
Biting his lip in an effort not to roar with laughter as he pictured Hugo festering with boils, Scorpius interrupted whatever Aaron was about to reply with a fit of coughing.   
  
“Can we ...” he spluttered, “just get along ... or keep quiet while the storm’s raging?”   
  
“Fine by me,” Aaron said, shrugging, and edged closer to Genister.  
  
“Of course it is!” Hugo snarled. “You’re the one who smarmed after my girlfriend and broke us up. Everything is bloody fine for you!”  
  
“Hugo, it wasn’t like that!” protested Genister.   
  
“I caught you kissing when we were still seeing each other!”  
  
“No, YOU DIDN’T!” she yelled, her face now red with fury. Taking a breath as she struggled to control herself, Genister ran her hands through her wispy blonde hair, and faced Hugo. “I’m sorry about all of this. Sorry I upset you, but I couldn’t carry on seeing you when I was thinking about Aaron. That wouldn’t be fair on anyone, and I didn’t want to deceive you. I care far too much for you, Hugo.”  
  
“Oh Salazar, please let the storm end,” Scorpius moaned to Lily. “If she starts talking about feelings, or how she hopes they can still be friends, I think I’ll puke.”  
  
Lily started to laugh. For some reason, she suddenly seemed a lot more relaxed and less hostile towards Genister. She stepped up to Hugo and pulled him on the arm. “Why don’t we have a game of Exploding Snap with your new pack?”  
  
“Fine,” Hugo muttered and settled into a far corner with her.   
  
Stuck in the middle as Genister and Aaron scuttled to the other side of the shed, Scorpius wandered to the window, watching as the storm raged. He didn’t mind storms, never had, because he remembered his Grandma tucking him into bed and telling him it was only Merlin hexing the Muggles. His mum, Scorpius mused, had been furious when he’d blurted out the story the next time there was a storm, and had railed at his dad for allowing them to fill their son’s head with such pernicious lies.   
  
Storms, to Scorpius, represented enlightenment, that first experience where he realised not everything adults said was true, and that there were many versions of the truth.   
  
“The rain’s easing off,” he said, “and the storm’s stopped. I expect we could leave now, unless you object to getting wet.”  
  
Genister jumped to her feet, dragging Aaron up as well. “Good, I’m supposed to be on prefect duty. Come on, let’s make a dash for it before it gets worse,” she said, and Summoning both their cloaks, she fastened her own and put the hood up. Slightly bemused, Aaron tucked his camera under the folds of the cloak and followed her out of the door, muttering a brief goodbye and thank you to Scorpius.  
  
“We’ll leave it a while and then head out, shall we?” Scorpius said, but as he turned to face Lily and Hugo, he heard a scream so loud it put the thunder to shame.  
  
“That’s Gen!” Hugo shouted, and without waiting to collect his cards, he dashed out of the hut. “If he’s hurt her -”  
  
“Good God, what now!” Scorpius muttered. Not only was this date a total disaster, it now looked as if he was going to have to stand between two duellists.  _If this stops me getting to the changing rooms, then I’ll hex the pair of them into next week,_  he thought grimly. With Genister’s screams still audible, he ran out of the shed, calling for Lily to follow. “You might be able to talk some sense into your cousin. Does he have to assume the worst, all the bloody time?”  
  
“He likes her,” she replied.   
  
“Aaron’s not going to hurt her,” Scorpius complained, but broke into a run when the shrieking intensified. “Shit, what’s happened?”  
  
Genister was in Aaron’s arms, in hysterics as he tried to pull her away from a gaping crater in front of them. It was all too clear the havoc the storm had caused, for directly in front of them a beech tree had fallen, crushing several saplings underfoot. Hugo had stopped, not even attempting to talk to Genister, but stood stock-still near the roots of the tree, his face ashen.  
  
“It’s a fallen tree, for Merlin’s sake!” Scorpius said in exasperation. Then he paused, wondering just what had sent both Hugo and Genister into such realms of shock. “Is someone hurt?”   
  
Hugo jerked his head away from the tree, and shook his head.  
  
“Do we need help from Hogwarts?” Scorpius persisted. “I could send a Patronus to the headmistress or Madam Bones.”  
  
“Too late,” rasped Aaron, speaking for the first time. With an effort, he pulled Genister away and handed her to Lily. “Look after her, please.”  
  
Without blinking, Lily wrapped her arms around Genister and led her away from them all. Frowning, Scorpius followed Aaron as he beckoned him to inspect the crater. With slow measured steps, Scorpius edged towards the roots of the tree, uncertain if the ground was solid enough to take his weight.   
  
“We were going to climb down, or scramble across the trunk,” Aaron mumbled. “But then Genister saw -” He swallowed, and despite his tan, he too looked white. With a trembling hand, he pointed at something and when he followed his gaze, Scorpius at last understood why they were all so very shaken.  
  
At the bottom of the tree crater, tangled in the roots, he saw a hand protruding from a bundle of rags. He peered closer, stepping carefully down the rim of the muddy slope, using the tree trunk to steady himself and gripped tight on his wand.   
  
Aaron was right; it was far too late for the matron, for whoever it was down there, had been dead for several years and all that remained was a mud-encrusted skeleton, swaddled in Hogwarts robes.  
  
“Fucking hell,” Scorpius murmured. He edged closer, wondering if there was any clue as to the corpse’s identity, but the body was only bones and hair, all flesh rotted away or picked clean by insects.   
  
“Should we get him ... her ... er ... the body out?” Hugo choked.   
  
“No!” The word came out harsher than he’d intended, and Scorpius saw both boys flinch, but he had no time to waste in assuaging their sensitivities. If the rain continued, it could wash away any remnants of evidence. “Aaron, can you take some pictures?” he asked, relieved when the boy nodded. “Hugo, can you cast some charms across the crater?”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Shield Charms, for a start,” Scorpius replied and smiled in encouragement when Hugo pulled out his wand, albeit with a very shaky hand.  
  
“Genister says someone’s dead ...” Lily trailed off as she approached the crater. She stared at Scorpius, then at the skeleton. “What happened?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Scorpius replied firmly and cupped her elbow with his hand, “but you shouldn’t be here.”  
  
Holding her head high, and swallowing, Lily walked over to where Hugo was struggling to cast a proper Protego. “Come, on, we’ll cast these together.”  
  
“Thank you,” Scorpius mouthed, marvelling at her calm. He took a deep breath, inhaling the soft scent of the newly disturbed, rain soaked earth and pulled out his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”  
  
A vixen appeared, darting around the scene joyfully, in grotesque contrast to the scenario splayed out in front of them.   
  
“Harry,” Scorpius said to the iridescent form leaping in front of him. He exhaled, wondering exactly how to phrase this, but Harry did not appreciate prevarication, and Scorpius being illegally inside the Hogwarts grounds would be the last of his concerns. “I’m on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. A body’s been unearthed. You need to get here.”  
  


II

  
  
  
As Scorpius thought, Harry turned up promptly. Wearing casual clothes, he’d obviously been relaxing at home, and Scorpius felt a twinge of guilt for disturbing him, but that guilt was assuaged when Harry dismissed his apology.  
  
He stared around the scene, taking it all in before edging down the slope of the crater and towards the body. “Has anyone touched anything, or dropped anything near the body.”  
  
They all shook their heads. Genister’s sobbing had ceased now; she stared dully ahead, answering questions with a yes or no, but not offering any real information. In contrast, Aaron, Scorpius saw, was keen to help, explaining exactly how they’d discovered the body and handing over his camera to Harry.   
  
“Your name?” Harry asked as he made notes.  
  
“Aaron Harper.”  
  
“Nathaniel Harper’s son, yes?” Harry asked, but said no more when Aaron nodded. “Thank you for taking photographs. Your house?”  
  
“Slytherin,” Aaron stated coolly as if daring Harry to look scornful. But Harry merely nodded.  
  
“I’ll see it’s sent back to you as soon as possible,” he replied, before turning to Scorpius. “Well done. You’ve kept the scene as uncontaminated as possible.”  
  
“Is it murder, do you think?”  
  
Harry scrutinised Scorpius face, and then beckoned to him to follow as he crawled down into the pit. “You’re not squeamish, are you?”  
  
“Uh ... I don’t particularly revel in finding dead bodies, but I’m not going to be sick, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
  
“Good.” Harry crouched by the tree roots, and very carefully pushed the hood down so the skull was fully exposed. Even through the mud, Scorpius could clearly see one side had been crushed and dented. “We have two things to consider here, Scorpius,” he murmured. “One is that this body has obviously been here a few years. It’s only bones now, but the robes are still intact, so I’m thinking it can’t be more than fifty years ago, and can’t be less than two. The victim, as you can see, has suffered a blow to the head, which could be the cause of death.”  
  
“No one could survive that, surely?” Scorpius questioned.  
  
“Until we get an expert to examine the body, we can’t tell if the damage was caused post or perimortem.”  
  
Scorpius nodded. He waited patiently for Harry to continue, but when he didn’t, he asked, “Could it be a Battle victim?”  
  
“Excellent question,” Harry murmured, “and one I’m going to check out.”  
  
“But you don’t think it is,” Scorpius stated.  
  
Harry smiled grimly. “It’s possible, although Battle victims were generally well treated, even if they were Death Eaters. I can’t see any reason for someone being killed and buried out here because most of the fighting took place much nearer the castle. But I’m not dismissing it because Merlin knows what happened to the people trampled on by giants, and I will certainly be checking through the list of unaccounted people - or rather you will.” Stretching out his hand to pull the hood back over the skeleton’s face, his hand lingered then delved into the folds of the cloak. “That list ... concentrate on the missing witches.”  
  
“Why?” Scorpius bent closer to the body.  
  
Between his fingers, Harry held a fine gold chain with a horseshoe pendant. “I don’t think many men would wear a necklace like this. The Ministry archive should be able to help you.”  
  
Scorpius sighed. He knew that was coming. He was a clerk, not an Auror and he’d be allocated the tedious work, whilst Harry, or whoever he assigned, did the actual investigating. “Do you want me to make a start on that tonight?”  
  
Shaking his head, Harry started to climb out of the hole. He greeted Lily with a sad smile, then held her close. “You should get back to Hogwarts, darling. There’s nothing to see here.”  
  
“I’m okay,” she whispered.   
  
“I know. You’re very strong - just like your mother.” He ruffled her hair and then glanced towards Scorpius. “Will you take them all back to the castle? I’ll send a message to their heads of house and Septima explaining what has happened.”  
  
“Yes, certainly,” replied Scorpius. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes, not wanting him to see that he was annoyed at being so quickly dismissed.  
  
“Do you know Harper and Avery?” Scorpius nodded, still not looking up. “Good, I need you to make sure they’re okay, and to impress on them not to talk about this. Then, if you can bear to tear yourself away from my daughter ...” Harry trailed off and touched Scorpius on the shoulder, “you can come back here.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
Harry nodded. “I’m impressed with how you handled yourself. Come back, and I’ll let you assist, okay?”  
  
He gaped, tried not to laugh or gibber his thanks, but couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Thank you.”  
  
“Don’t get too excited,” Harry muttered. “This could easily be a Battle victim killed in the crossfire. Not every case in the Auror department is a murder.”


	2. Find The Girl

Scorpius didn’t exactly hurry back to Harry, but he didn’t procrastinate when walking the others back to Hogwarts. None of them had wished to hang around and all were eager to get back. No one spoke, apart from Genister who fretted about being late; the others kept unnaturally quiet, trudging back through the mud. Aaron, Scorpius noticed, kept his arm around Genister, but his attention was focused on the castle, his expression impenetrable. Hugo, looking glazed, barely took in his ex and her new boyfriend, but walked in the middle of the two couples. Beside Scorpius, Lily seemed calm, but when he put his arm around her, she shivered.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

_Stupid question. Of course she isn’t._

“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice slightly shaky. She swallowed and faced him. “What was Dad talking to you about?”

Scorpius shook his head, unsure exactly what he could divulge. “Not much, but he wants me to join him,” he said, barely able to keep the pride out of his voice. 

Lily gave him a watery smile and sniffed. “So much for the changing rooms.”

Halting for a moment, Scorpius entwined both hands around her waist and pulled her close. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how much I want things to be different.”

She sighed and shrugged, but let him kiss her and even returned the kiss. “Shame it was my only Hogsmeade weekend. I won’t see you until Christmas.” And then she pulled away. “I shouldn’t be surprised; Dad always has to leave things for work.”

“Come here,” he muttered and pulled her back into his arms. He waited for the others to walk ahead then cupped her face in his hands. “I love you, Lily Potter, and if things had been different, then there is no way I would have left you without ... uh ...” She giggled a little, then stopped, and looked solemn. “What’s the matter?”

“Shouldn’t laugh, should I? Not after what we’ve seen.”

He shivered slightly, seeing the skeleton in his mind’s eye as clear as if it were in front of him. “Whoever it was has been dead a long time, Lily,” he muttered.

“It was still a person ... once,” she retorted. Her eyes filled with tears and he could feel her body trembling.

Lowering his lips to hers, he kissed her very gently, and then released her from his grasp. “Your dad will find out what happened.”

“And you,” she stated, and gave him half a smile. “You’re excited, aren’t you?”

“Intrigued,” he amended as he clasped her hand in his. “Lily, I want to be an Auror. I can’t  _not_  be interested.”

“I know,” she said, and then sighed some more as they approached the castle. “Just ... I wanted this weekend to be special.”

From the door of the castle, he saw Professors Vector, Longbottom, Zabini and Goldstein approach. Relinquishing his hold on Lily, he nudged her towards them. “We’ll have other times... I promise.”

He extracted himself soon after. Lily assured him she was fine, and Hugo seemed to shake his despondency off and wrapped his arm around her, so after a few words with the Heads of Houses and the Headmistress, Scorpius left, trying not to break into a run as he retraced his steps back to Harry. 

Jacob Proudfoot was there when he got back. Scorpius nodded to him, unsurprised he’d been called as he was the longest serving Auror in the department, but still vaguely irritated to see him there. It wasn’t that he disliked Proudfoot, he didn’t know him well enough to have formed an opinion, but the older Auror had only ever spoken to him when he wanted a file. He barely looked at him when Scorpius approached, but carried on talking to Harry down near the roots.

“Might get an ID from the robes,” he was saying, “but only if they were specially made.”

Harry chewed the side of his mouth and addressed Scorpius. “How do you think we could identify the body?”

“Uh ...” Scorpius knew Harry wasn’t in need of an opinion but was grateful to be included in the deliberations. “The necklace might be worth tracing.”

“Probably a cheap reproduction,” Proudfoot interjected. “Might not even be gold, so that will make it almost impossible to trace.”

“The necklace was dirty but not tarnished,” Scorpius replied. “Replica gold would probably have rusted.”

“Excellent point,” Harry murmured. He crouched by the body, this time reaching out with his hands to touch it. “We need to move the body and I don’t want to use too much magic in case something breaks.”

Scorpius tried not to flinch as he edged into the pit, careful not to disrupt the scene more than necessary. “What do you want me to do?”

“Help me disentangle the limbs from the roots,” Harry replied. He gazed across at Scorpius, and lowered his voice. “If you can’t face this, then you can search the area and I’ll ask Jacob to assist. I’m not going to judge you.”

“I’m fine,” Scorpius said through gritted teeth. He stepped closer and tentatively touched the bones of one leg. And as he took a breath, he realised he really was fine. It was a grim business, facing death and murder, but the trick, he decided, was to face it with as much clinical precision as possible. This was not a person he was extracting from the earth but a collection of bones. 

They worked slowly, but deftly, until at last Harry thought the body safe to move. Telling Scorpius to stand back, Harry wrapped a Sealing Charm around the bones and levitated it to the earth above them. 

“What happens now?” Scorpius asked as he wiped his grimy hands on his robes.

“The body will need to go to Magi-Forensics at St Mungo’s,” Harry replied. “Jacob will take it and you can accompany him, if you’d like, or stay here and help me sift through the rest of this earth.”

Declaring that he’d rather stay with Harry, Scorpius started to comb the area. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but Harry had suggested that the body might have had other personal possessions on it, and anything that could aid identification was important.

“Are we after anything in particular?”

Harry stood up, pressing his hands into his back and wincing as he considered the question. “We need to find out who this is, agreed?”

“Mmm.”

“We have an unidentifiable body swaddled in Hogwarts robes. We can surmise this is a girl, but for all we know a boy could have worn that necklace. What we really need is something more unique to the owner.” He paused and again felt the side of his back with his hands. 

Scorpius frowned, puzzling over the words, and then his face cleared. “The wand!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, the wand. As long as he or she wasn’t using someone else’s, then that’s as good as a name tag on the robes.”

“Why would someone use a different wand?”

“Circumstances change. Mate of mine turned up at the Battle with no wand, but won one shortly after. He’s still using it.” 

“You used my dad’s wand at the Battle, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded, but didn’t elaborate, so Scorpius resumed his search of the tree roots. First he tried Summoning it, but nothing appeared. It could have been caught somewhere, or even broken, which would have prevented it being Summonable, he supposed. However, it was getting much darker now, and even by Lumos light, it was virtually impossible to see anything. When Scorpius tripped over a stone, falling into the tree, Harry decided it was time to call it a day. 

“We’ll come back first thing,” he said, sounding weary. “But I’m not sure we’ll find anything useful now.”

“Where do you think the wand is?” Scorpius asked. He clambered out of the pit and held out his hand to haul Harry up.

Harry sighed. “I hope it’s still down there, but if the victim had been holding it, we’d have found it by now. They either weren’t carrying it, which is very unusual, or it’s been taken.”

“By the murderer?”

“Who knows?” Harry muttered. “For all we know, Fang could have found it and gnawed it to bits.”

“Who’s Fang?”

“Hagrid’s old dog. Looked as fierce as a dragon but was as soft as a Pygmy Puff. Would lick you to death sooner than bite you.”

“So we’re back to the necklace and the robes?”

“Mmm, and that list of missing persons from the Battle.” Casting Aguamenti, Harry washed his hands and face; Scorpius followed suit, hoping the water would clear his mind as well as his skin, but as he removed the grime from his face, the hollowed eyes of the dented skull swam in front of him. He staggered, lurching into Harry and then his breath was coming out in short shallow gasps.

“Merlin, I’m sorry,” Harry muttered, and with one arm, hoisted Scorpius along to the tree trunk, forcing him to sit down. “I didn’t think.”

“I’m okay.”

“I’d be surprised if you were. It’s been a long day and you’ve handled this incredibly well ... perhaps too well.” Pushing back his hair, he sat alongside Scorpius. “I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies, and varying stages of death, but it’s still a shock. And I can still clearly remember the first person I saw die.”

“That’s not my first body,” Scorpius mumbled, feeling ashamed. “And ... well ... it wasn’t horrific. Just dry bones.”

“Perhaps that’s the horrific thing,” Harry replied, speaking softly. “When it comes down to it, we’re all dry bones.” He let out another sigh and then got to his feet. “Right, I was supposed to be enjoying a Saturday alone whilst Ginny’s away covering the Wales game, but I suspect James will drop in with Louis to raid our fridge, so how about you come back with me? We can grab a takeaway, share some beer, and discuss the case, or talk about ... Kneazles, if you’d rather.”

He thought of the flat, empty because Ben was visiting his parents, and a night alone spent trying not to think about this afternoon. His thoughts turned to Lily and the others, not allowed to talk about what they’d seen, but at least they had each other. He’d never missed her more.

“Thanks,” he muttered to Harry. “I’d like to.”

 

II

Just as Harry had predicted, James and Louis turned up shortly after they got back. But to Harry’s surprise, both came armed with beer and food.

“Fish and chips for three,” Louis declared. “Sorry, didn’t know you’d be here, Scorpius.”

“They always give us too much anyway,” Harry replied, and Summoning four plates, he distributed the food equally and bade Scorpius to begin. To Scorpius, brought up far more formally than James and Louis, sitting with a plate on his lap, instead of at a table, was still something of a novelty, but it was a novelty he was enjoying and he soon accepted a can of lager, not even bothering to ask for a glass.

“So, where’ve you been?” James asked, sounding casual.

Harry raised one eyebrow and winked at Scorpius. “James has moved to the crime desk at _The Prophet_ , did you know?”

Grinning, Scorpius speared his fork into several chips. “Is he trying to bribe us?”

“There is a story, then,” James replied swiftly.

Harry paused and took a long sip of his drink. “What have you heard?”

“We got a tip off from St. Mungo’s about a body. No name or any other details given.” James leant forwards. “Is it murder?”

“Is this off the record?” Harry asked, and laughed when James didn’t reply. “Okay, on the record, I can tell  _The Prophet_  that a body was found in the grounds of Hogwarts. You can quote the Head Auror as saying that we are currently following up leads to discover the cause of death and the identity of the victim.” 

“And off the record?” James murmured. “Do you have any theories?”

“I always have theories, James, but I’m not telling them to your readership, and you should know that by now.”

James nodded and sat back in the armchair. With deliberation, he switched his attention to Scorpius. “Hogsmeade weekend, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Scorpius replied, hoping he sounded non-committal.

“Did you have a good time with Lily?”

Scorpius shrugged. “So-so.”

“Wow, bet my sister will be overwhelmed at your enthusiasm,” James mocked. He turned to Louis. “She’s spent the past two months crying herself to sleep, crossing off the days till she can see the love of her life, and he replies ‘So-so’.”

“It didn’t help finding a bloody dead body!” Scorpius snapped and instantly knew he’d said too much. “Shit!”

Harry closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about it.  _The Prophet_ will find out soon enough anyway. Okay, James, Scorpius was there when the body was discovered. He called it in and managed to preserve the scene. There were other people there, but as they are all under-age, I am relying on your discretion.”

“Can I mention Scorpius?”

Harry studied James and then his gaze flickered to Scorpius. “If he doesn’t mind, then that’s fine with me, but you are not to mention your sister, got that?”

“Sure.” He drained his beer and stood up. “I better go; I’ve got a story to write.”

“And there was me thinking you’d come home to keep me company!” Harry said, laughing as James stepped towards the Floo. “You’ll stay, won’t you, Louis?”

“Mhm, for a bit,” Louis mumbled through a mouthful of food. He swallowed. “I’m going in to work tomorrow, though, so don’t want a late night.”

“Why?” Scorpius asked. Louis worked in the Ministry Archives, a job that as far as Scorpius could see required very little effort on his part, as all he basically did was stamp books, issue permits and search through files.

“Once a year there’s an audit,” Louis replied. “We need to catalogue everything, sort through the books to be repaired, chase up returnees.” He shrugged. “It’s boring, but has to be done. And I get overtime, so I’m not complaining.”

Harry looked as if he were about to say something, but must have thought better of it, for he resumed eating and listened while Scorpius talked to Louis about Quidditch and the Ministry canteen and anything else he could think of so he wouldn’t have to think about that body. Slowly, he could feel himself relax, the knots of tension in his shoulders unravelled, and by the time he’d finished his food and was working his way through his second can, he felt ... calm. 

When Louis got up to leave, Scorpius started to make his excuses, but with a smile, Harry assured him he didn’t have to leave yet. “We still have to have that chat about Kneazles,” he said enigmatically, leaving Louis looking puzzled. 

Scorpius watched him leave through the Floo, the green flames flaring up around him, and waited until the flames were back to orange before turning to Harry.

“Sorry about talking to James,” he murmured.

“Not a problem. You didn’t let much slip, and James is turning into a very astute journalist. He wants to make a name for himself as much as you do, so just be careful what you say to him. I trust him not to make things up, but nothing will be off the record.” He stacked the plates and was about to carry them into the kitchen but stopped. “When they discover where the body was, there will be questions asked about why you were there.”

Scorpius took a long slow swallow of his drink before replying. He’d been expecting this, but was still unsure how to phrase his reply. “I know it’s not allowed, but I was intending to walk her back halfway,” he said slowly. “Then when the storm started, we found shelter in the shed.” He could feel Harry’s eyes boring into him, and faced him head on. “Are you asking me these questions as my boss or as Lily’s dad?”

Harry blinked and grimaced. “As an Auror. I’ll play the heavy-handed father card another time.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Okay, I think I took most of the details at the time, but is there anything else you can remember? What about the others’ reactions?”

Scorpius closed his eyes, picturing the scene as he considered. He heard the scream, saw Hugo dashing out of the shed, and remembered a hysterical Genister in Aaron’s arms, a stark contrast to Lily, who although shaken had remained calm. “We were all shocked. Aaron was probably the most controlled and Genister the most overwrought.”

“Mmm,” Harry’s reply was non-committal, and that caused Scorpius to snap back to the present.

“What are you thinking?”

“Just pondering their presence in the shed.”

“We were sheltering from the storm, although Aaron and Genister might have got there before the thunder started for ... uh ...” He tried not to blush, suddenly reminded of his own intentions with Lily and acutely aware that this was her dad he was talking to. “But this body is old, you said. It can’t have anything to do with them.”

“Decomposition varies, Scorpius, depending on the conditions. That body could have been far more recent than the Battle. It could even be a missing pupil from your time at Hogwarts.”

“Or it could be from before the Battle,” Scorpius countered, “which would put the timeframe back to your era.”

“We need the wand,” Harry said, and then he yawned. “And I think I need to call it a night. I’ll call round to yours tomorrow at first light and we can return to the scene.”

Standing up to leave, Scorpius was heartened to receive a smile from Harry. The cock-up with James, and the fact that he should never had been inside the Hogwarts’ grounds had apparently been forgiven. Scorpius was still on the case.

II

The search the following day brought no more success, for despite spending a good two hours searching, and roping in two witches from the Law Enforcement Department, the wand remained elusive. 

After dismissing the two witches, Harry and Scorpius trudged up to Hogwarts so that Harry could fill Professor Vector in on the latest developments, and Scorpius could search through the school records of missing pupils.

“These are all followed up, then?” Scorpius said when presented with a list of names, all of whom seemed to have a note attached.

They were sitting in the Headmistresses office, a place Scorpius had seen many times. He had no idea what it had been like in Harry’s day, but Professor Vector kept it sparse. There were books on the shelves, and one or two photographs, but she kept no ornaments or any other decoration apart from the portraits on the wall, which she couldn’t have removed even if she’d wanted to.

Headmistress Vector, who’d never been keen on Scorpius, frowned in disapproval. “Of course we follow them up. We don’t like pupils leaving us, and encourage them to stay on to take NEWTs, but some pupils are not suited to study and will happily leave when they find employment.” She stabbed the list with her wand. “I can account for most of these pupils, but there are obviously gaps.”

“Gaps?” Harry asked.

Professor Vector let out a sigh. She Summoned two chairs (a hard one for Scorpius, he noticed) and gestured for them both to sit down. “The missing pupils’ list was ... ‘amended’ in the Carrow regime.”

“Amended?” Scorpius butted in. Harry frowned at him, so he bent his head back over the list, his cheeks burning at the reprimand.

“It made it harder to trace Muggle-borns if the list of missing pupils was incomplete, I imagine,” Harry murmured. His eyes flickered to a portrait on the wall, the black-haired man’s face turned stubbornly away, but Scorpius detected a faint nod at Harry’s words.

“Is there anyone from your time here that you know is missing?” Harry asked. She shook her head. “Did anyone drop out that you didn’t expect would?” 

The Headmistress glowered at Scorpius. “Apart from a rather foolish girl who got herself pregnant at sixteen and went on to marry Draco Malfoy, no.”

Stifling a snort, Scorpius deliberately didn’t look at Harry or the Headmistress. His mother had been Professor Vector’s favourite pupil and she’d never forgiven his dad, and by association Scorpius, for cutting short Astoria’s academic career in Arithmancy. 

“Astoria Malfoy isn’t missing, though, Septima,” Harry said, the reproof there but mild. “We’re looking for an unaccounted pupil.”

She pressed her lips together. “Some pupils do leave before taking their exams. It’s more common before NEWTs, but as I said, Harry, we follow up every single non-returnee. There is no one unaccounted for post-Battle. Our records are accurate.” She fixed her steely gaze on Scorpius. “Might I ask why the Auror Department is taking such an interest in this? I would not have thought this the remit for Dark Wizard hunters.”

“As it might be a Battle victim, that gives the Auror department first call,” Harry replied succinctly. “And the line between dark magic and crime blurs so often these days that there is no point having two departments chasing the same leads.”

Staring for a moment longer at Scorpius, she switched back to Harry. “Your clerk should not have been in the Hogwarts’ grounds. He is no longer a pupil here.”

“Septima, it is  _hardly_  the remit of the Auror department to police your grounds for recalcitrant pupils,” he replied, using her phrasing with deliberation. “Scorpius knows he shouldn’t have been where he was but he was escorting Lily back to the castle. She is absolutely terrified of storms and would have probably panicked and sheltered under a tree, or rushed blindly up to the castle. Neither is a course of action I’d recommend in those weather conditions.”

He had her now. There was no way the Headmistress could censure Scorpius or punish Lily for the misdemeanour without looking thoroughly miserly.

Waving her wand at a pile of parchment letters, she picked up her quill and started to sign them, clearly indicating that the meeting was over. After saying thank you and goodbye, Harry tapped Scorpius on the shoulder and together they left the room.

“She doesn’t like you much, does she?” Harry said, his face cracking into a smile.

“I wasn’t very good at her subject,” Scorpius said and shrugged. “And things didn’t exactly run smoothly in my last year here.”

“I don’t think Hogwarts ever runs smoothly,” replied Harry. “Okay, I think we can surmise that her records are accurate, she made that plain enough, so we’re looking for a Battle victim or earlier. You need to return to the Ministry and check the missing persons’ list. Start with nineteen-ninety-eight. Zabini has a Floo connection, as does Neville. I’m sure one of them will let you use it.”

“Where’s the list?”

“In the Ministry Archives. You can ask Louis for help, just make sure he says nothing to James.”

“Sure.” Scorpius hesitated at the top of the stairs.

“Today would be good!”

“Uh, yeah, so straight away, then?”

Raising his eyebrows, Harry pulled a face looking as stern as Vector. “You’re working and not here to see my daughter, so get on with it before I decide to play my protective father card and hex you for nearly landing her in detention.”

“I’m going. I’m going,” called Scorpius, already at the bottom stair. He could hear Harry laughing as he launched himself down the second flight, and started to laugh himself. The horrors of yesterday had receded and now he was becoming intrigued. This was why he wanted to be an Auror, and he was going to grab every opportunity that Harry gave him. 

But as he careened off the walls and through the corridors, he collided quite spectacularly with a girl also not looking where she was going. 

“Scorpius!” Lily exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. She flung her arms around him. “How on earth did you get in?”

“Uh ...” He grinned down at her, brushed his lips to hers, and then pulled away. “I’m here with your dad. Sorry, Lily, I really can’t stay.”

“But I -”

“Another time,” he called back over his shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you, Apple-Queen, I promise!”

Hightailing it down the rest of the stairs, he ran towards the Slytherin dungeons, hoping to catch Professor Zabini in his office. It was Sunday morning, and he half wondered if the Professor would still be asleep, but as he approached the study, he heard the familiar sound of his old Potions Professor, Head of House, and his wife having an animated conversation.

He slowed his pace debating the wisdom of using this Floo connection, for the professor’s wife was also a journalist and although she mainly wrote feature articles since having her first baby, she had a nose for a story and would brook no prevarication from him. Backing away, Scorpius decided he had to find Professor Longbottom instead, but just as he turned, the door opened and a familiar voice called his name.

“Scorpius Malfoy!” Lavender cried. He groaned inwardly. “What a surprise. Are you sneaking in to see Lily?”

“Uh ...”

“No, of course you’re not. I suspect you’re here with Harry. Well, come in,” she commanded, “the professor and I are dying to hear the news.”

He plastered a smile on his face and turned around. “I can’t really tell you anything, Mrs Zabini, but Harry’s asked if I can use your Floo.”

Lavender returned his smile and gestured for him to enter the study. He followed her, now on his guard because he didn’t want to get caught again. The professor was at his desk where normally he marked essays, or doled out punishments, but today his six-month-old son was sitting on his lap and trying to grab biscuits from a plate. 

“Scorpius. Good to see you. How’s life in the Auror department?” 

“Uh, hectic at the moment,” Scorpius replied. Not taking the offered biscuit, because he strongly suspected that it had already been handled and probably slobbered over, he gabbled out Harry’s request, pleased when the professor immediately nodded.

“Not so fast,” Lavender said. “I’m sure you have time for a cup of coffee. It’s been ages since we saw you.”

“I have to get back, Mrs Zabini -”

“Lavender,” she insisted, and pulled him down to the chair next to her. “And what’s the rush? Is it to do with the body?”

Well, at least she was up front about it. Scorpius nodded. “I’m assisting Harry.”

“So it’s definitely a murder, then?” she murmured. Her fingers strayed the  _The Sunday Prophet_. James’s story had made the front page.

Scorpius blinked, James could not have written that assumption as fact; Lavender was fishing for her own story. “Don’t know?”

He heard her tongue click in irritation, then she asked if there was any identification yet.

“I really can’t say, Lavender. I’m only a clerk,” he said smoothly.

Professor Zabini burst out laughing. “Leave him alone. He has a job to do and wants to use our Floo.”

“I have a job to do as well,” she complained, but she smiled at Scorpius all the same. “Sorry, there are times when I miss being on the news desk. Feature articles about notable wizards or witches can get very boring. I miss the investigative side of things.” Pulling a face, she read through James’s article again. “He’s written a lot about not very much. It’s all assumption and very little fact.”

“Uh, well, there’s not a lot to go on,” Scorpius said, then flashed her a smile. “I didn’t say that, okay.”

“You didn’t say anything!” he heard her grumble, just as the green Floo flames engulfed him.

 

The Ministry library was housed on Level One of the Ministry building at the end of a long winding corridor and next to the secretarial office. Scorpius had only visited it once to obtain a reference book, but remembered being almost oppressed by the silence and the sheer volume of books. The fact that Louis, who he usually saw larking around with James and in exuberant spirits, worked in this sombre environment surprised him, but Louis didn’t seem dissatisfied. 

He greeted Scorpius with a smile and in a hushed voice led him to a side desk, where Scorpius explained exactly what he was looking for. With a wink and a whisper, he told him to sit while he looked for the records and then he disappeared down one of the gloomy aisles, twisting out of sight. Sometime later, just as Scorpius was beginning to think he’d been forgotten, Louis emerged, a little dusty, but carrying a large leather-bound book. “Here you go,” he murmured “This is the main record of the Battle, and there’s a list of the dead and missing at the end. They’re the people we know who were definitely there.” He pulled something out from his pocket and pushed it across the table. “I also found this for you.”

“What’s that?”

“This one is a list of all wizards or witches that have ever been reported missing. They’re of age, and there’s never been a reason to suppose they’re dead, but we have to keep records in case there’s been an accident and they turn up Confunded in a Muggle area. Most have returned to their homes, but you might find the odd straggler.”

Scorpius whistled then stopped when the Head Archivist glared at him through his pince-nez. Grinning instead at Louis, he whispered, “I’m impressed, but the body was found at Hogwarts and in school robes.”

“And you’ve thrown yours away, have you?” Louis murmured. Tilting back on his chair, with an amused look in his eye, he winked at Scorpius. “Thought not. Clothes are deceptive, don’t you think? Can get you into places you really shouldn’t be ...”

II

With much to ponder on, and quite a large list to follow up, Scorpius made his way back to the Auror department and sat at his desk. Louis was right; clothes could be deceptive, as could jewellery. From thinking that he need only search for witches, he now wondered whether it could be a wizard lying in the St Mungo’s morgue instead. Hearing someone come in, he looked up and found himself staring at Joseph Proudfoot.

“Where’s Harry?” he asked.

“Still at Hogwarts, I think?” Scorpius replied. He glanced at the green folder Proudfoot was holding; the words ST MUNGO’S stamped on the front. “Is that the autopsy report?”

“The preliminary, yes. Harry wants to see it. I suppose I’d better get to Hogwarts.”

“Could I have a look?” Scorpius asked. Proudfoot raised one eyebrow and started to shake his head. “I’m following up a list of missing persons, and any information would help me narrow down the field.”

Proudfoot considered, then nodded curtly. “Female and around five foot four.”

“How old?”

“There’s a lot of forensic jargon, but basically the Healer said ...” he trailed off and scanned the report, narrowing his eyes as he read, “due to the femurs - the thigh bones - being fully formed, she’s probably over seventeen.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius breathed, and began to attack his list with renewed vigour. “Oh ... Proudfoot, it doesn’t say how long she’s been in the ground, does it? Would narrow down this list even further if I had a timeframe.”

He shook his head as he headed for the door. “Sorry, lad, we’ll have to wait for the second report for that.”

Three hours later, Scorpius had narrowed down the list. There were three females he’d been unable to eliminate. The first, Tamara Flint, had walked out of Hogwarts in the middle of her final year following a row with her boyfriend, nineteen years ago. Scorpius paused before circling her name. He knew the Flints, but didn’t recall any mention of a ‘Tamara’. It would be easy to find out, though. 

The second name, Josephine Hardwicke, had been reported missing thirty-eight years before. She was twenty-five and from a pure-blood family, but there’d been a suspicion that she’d been involved with a Muggle. At the time, her family had reported her missing, but then filed a report five years later saying she’d been found. It looked as if the case was solved, but there had been no follow up report from the Ministry, and whilst it could have been lost, Scorpius didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

The last name was vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t remember why. Chloe Jackson had been twenty when she’d left her job in the Ministry, eight years before. There had been no letter of resignation and she’d not worked out any notice period, but her fellow secretaries had noticed she was getting bored and had mentioned that she wanted to quit. He flipped through the report; she’d taken clothes with her, including, he noted with interest, her old school robes and her jewellery box. 

He read through her file again, carefully scrutinising the clothes she’d taken, lightweight clothes, sandals, a camera had been missing ... and then he remembered. Chloe Jackson used to work with his aunt. Although she now ran Greengrass Publishing, Daphne Greengrass spent a month or two every year researching ancient magical civilisations for her own historical tomes. Six years previously, she’d returned from New Zealand trip with Chloe in tow. She’d fulfilled the roles of secretary and photographer, and his aunt had been reluctant to let her leave. But Chloe had left to get married, and now he thought about it, he remembered Daphne showing his mum wedding pictures.

He crossed Chloe’s name off the list, and pulled out Josephine Hardwicke’s file.

“Any luck?” Harry strode through the door, his eyes on the autopsy report.

“Two possibles,” Scorpius said, then frowned as he spotted a detail on Josephine Hardwicke’s biography. “Okay, not this one, she’s too tall.”

Harry stopped by his desk and glanced over the file before pointing to something. “Wrong age as well, Scorpius. Our victim is under seventeen.”

“What!” Scorpius could feel his jaw drop. “No ... Jacob told me  _over_ seventeen. Something about the thigh bones.”

“Yes, they weren’t fully fused, and so our victim is female and under seventeen, but over thirteen as she has most of her teeth,” Harry explained calmly.

“But he said ‘fully formed’,” Scorpius protested. At that moment, Jacob Proudfoot walked back into the room. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, taking in Scorpius’ furious face.

“I’ve wasted a good three hours narrowing down this list and digging out reports because you told me the victim was over seventeen!”

Jacob frowned slightly, and looked at the file over Harry’s shoulder. “You must have misunderstood me, lad. It clearly says here she has to be underage.”

“No! You said-”

“Scorpius,” rapped Harry. “You got it wrong. Sit down and return to the list. We need a name.”

Gritting his teeth, Scorpius, who hadn’t even realised he’d got to his feet, sat back down. He glowered at Jacob, who was discussing the case with Harry, and tried to focus, but all he could think about was his wasted morning.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he muttered under his breath, as he watched Harry closet himself in his office with Proudfoot. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he  _had_  misheard him, but he was sure he hadn’t. Now he needed to discover if Proudfoot was an idiot, or whether he’d set him up.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... who is that girl? And why is Proudfoot such a git? (Maybe he isn't ... maybe I'm just rambling)


	3. Leads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating quickly but I went away and my net was rubbish.

The stormy weather had followed Scorpius to London. After three more spectacularly fruitless days trying to narrow down the search for a name, he left work and decided to walk back to Diagon Alley. He didn’t care that it was raining, or that the pavements were crowded with Muggles all carrying stupidly big umbrellas and not looking where they were going; he needed to be away from the office and looking at daylight again. 

The list of unaccounted Battle victims was short. All bodies had been claimed, or absconders brought back to justice, and the one or two still missing did not match the meagre facts they had, being either the wrong sex, too tall, or the wrong age. Louis’ list of Confunded adults offered nothing as they were all too old. He was left with Tamara Flint, who had only just been seventeen when she’d disappeared, and no one else. But then, the Hogwarts school records were incomplete due to the amendments made by Professor Snape, and he wasn’t sure where to obtain the accurate ones. Short of interviewing every pupil who’d attended in the past fifty years to see if they remembered someone going missing, he wasn’t sure where the hell to go next. 

It all came back to Tamara Flint, a girl they’d been unable to eliminate. The next day Harry planned to visit the head of the household, who had just returned to the country. 

As Scorpius stomped up the metal side steps to the flat he rented from George Weasley, he saw a light on inside. Huffing slightly, and hoping Ben hadn’t brought Rose back with him, because he really wasn’t up to her animated brand of conversation tonight, he sidled into the kitchen, shouting out ‘hello’ before helping himself to a cold beer from the Chill-Charm cabinet.

“Hard day?” Benedict said, wandering into the kitchen.

“Fucking crap.” Scorpius scowled and knocked back half the can. “That arse Proudfoot is still not admitting that he fucked up and gave me the wrong information. And trying to find a missing underage witch is proving bloody impossible! You’d think someone would have missed her!”

Ben walked towards him and poured two glasses of juice. “The body could have been down there for years, do a few extra days matter?”

“Everyone knows a body’s been found, so if it’s murder, whoever is responsible has been alerted. That’s why Harry’s pressing hard for an identity.” 

“You don’t know it’s murder, though,” Ben reasoned.

“It’s looking likely,” Scorpius replied. He groaned as he thought about it. A body with no name and no one reporting her missing. No one cared enough about her to report her gone, so in all likelihood she was a friendless victim. 

“But you have some leads, don’t you?”

“One,” Scorpius said, and moodily kicked the chair. “We’re going to check it out tomorrow.” He brightened a little, remembering Harry had agreed he could accompany him to the Flint residence. “Look, I have some stuff to read, so I’ll go to my room, give you and Rose some privacy.”

Ben laughed. “Don’t worry about that. It’s not Rose. It’s James.”

“What!”

Holy shit, what the fuck had he been talking about? 

“You might have warned me,” he muttered furiously.

“Uh ... what’s the problem? I thought you and James got on these days.”

“I think Scorpius is more worried about  _The Prophet,_  Ben,” James remarked from the doorway. He sauntered across the floor, accepting the juice, then leant on the counter and smiled at Scorpius. “Got a quote for me? Update on the identity?”

“No comment,” Scorpius said, tight-lipped.

James sighed. “Thought as much. That’s not the reason I’ve come round, though.”

“Really?” He knew he sounded dubious; he was dubious. Yes, he and James got on okay, but they were hardly on ‘dropping in to share a beer’ terms.

“Yeah,” James sipped his juice and grinned again. “Look, I know we’re not best mates, or anything, but Lily mentioned it was your birthday soon and I wondered if you wanted to do something with me and Louis, and Ben, if he wants to.”

“That’s ... uh ...” Scorpius blinked, taken aback by the gesture. He’d not really thought about his birthday. It would be the first one out of Hogwarts for years, and he wasn’t close to any of the boys he’d knocked around with in Slytherin. “Why?”

Laughing, James drained his juice, then helped himself to a beer. “Okay, I can see why you’re suspicious, but as you seem to be attached to my sister, then we need to get to know you a little better, and I think getting trollied on a night out is better than sending out a questionnaire - although I know Rose would disagree.”

“Stop taking the piss of my girlfriend,” Ben complained, but mildly.

“She was my cousin first. I’m allowed to.”

As he listened to their exchange, Scorpius felt like forgetting the past few days and just sitting down with the pair of them and drinking himself stupid. This was fun. This was life and not death. It was normal and ... invigorating. “I’d like that,” Scorpius said, grinning at James. 

“Great.” James grinned back and took a gulp of his beer. “Now, then, tell me what’s happening with the case -” He failed to duck as Scorpius threw his empty beer can at him. “JOKE JOKE!” he yelled, and started to laugh. 

***

“What the hell?”

Scorpius looked up from his desk at the sound of Harry’s voice. They were due to visit the Flint residence, and Scorpius was just gathering his things together.

“SCORPIUS! Get in here!”

Dropping everything (and upsetting his cold mug of coffee in the process), Scorpius darted into Harry’s office. “Problem, Harry?”

“I’ll bloody say there’s a problem! Look at this!”

Harry waved a paper at him. A feeling of dread took over, encroaching on Scorpius’ side vision, tethering him to the headline.

_'DISARRAY, DISCORD AND DISORDER IN THE  
AUROR DEPARTMENT!'_

“What’s this about?” Scorpius saidwarily, hoping against hope it wasn’t what he thought. He gulped, spotting James’ name as the lead writer, and scanned the story. “That’s not what I said.”

“You admit you spoke to him, then?” Harry spat. “After everything I said, you decide to talk to James and tell him we’re clueless. Just where the hell is your brain? Don’t you realise the harm this does, not just for the case but for morale?”

“I didn’t know he was there, okay!” Scorpius exclaimed. He took a breath, noting Harry’s look of contempt and disbelief and tried again. “Look, Harry, I went home yesterday. I was pissed off, went straight to the kitchen for a beer, and then started to sound off to Ben. But ...” he skimmed through the article, “I didn’t say half of this stuff, I’m sure.”

“You didn’t know James was there?”

“Ben will confirm it,” Scorpius replied. “All I said was that I’d wasted my Sunday, and yeah, I did say something about Proudfoot being an arse. But this stuff about us having no leads and being stuck, that’s not true.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Snatching the paper back from Scorpius, he fixed his eyes on him. “What about declaring it was murder? We still don’t know that.”

“I ... told Ben it was looking likely,” Scorpius said warily. “But that’s all. Nothing else here has come from me.”

“Did you say she was underage?”

He thought back, trying to replay the conversation in his mind, but after that first beer, they’d had another, and some things were hazy. “I might have done. Sorry.”

Harry ended his scrutiny and with a sigh, threw the paper into his bin. “There’s no real harm done. I was going to call  _The Prophet_  today if the Flint lead is a dead end, but I’d have liked to do it on my own terms.”

“Can I still come with you?”

“Yes, but you sit there and make notes. You don’t utter a word unless I say you can. Jonah Flint is a tricky git, and his wife ... Well, if half the stories I’ve heard about her are true-”

“She’s Professor Zabini’s mother, isn’t she,” Scorpius stated.

“Mmm, Karis Flint, formerly Zabini, Crouch, Davies ... and four other surnames that I can’t recall without the file.”

“You think she could be our murderer?”

Harry raised his eyebrows and cocked a small smile. “I have no doubt she could murder someone, but her modus operandi was  _allegedly_  old men. Tamara Flint was neither male nor elderly, so I am not going to assume anything. All we want to do today is to establish her whereabouts.”

Scorpius nodded and followed Harry out of the office, stopping only long enough to pick up his coffee stained notebook and soggy quill. 

***

The Flint residence was an impressive Georgian house set behind large iron railings in the heart of Muggle London. Surprised at this, because Davey Flint, a near contemporary of his, had always been so proud of his pureblood status, Scorpius questioned Harry about this anomaly.

“A Flint several hundred years ago won this house in a game of cards against the Duke of Pemberton,” Harry explained. “Before then, they were pretty broke, despite being purebloods, and this was the turning point in the Flint family fortunes.”

“Pretty big good luck charm,” Scorpius scoffed.

“Five storeys of luck,” Harry muttered. With a discreet flick of his wand, he cast a non-verbal spell and after a brief flare of light, the wrought-iron gate creaked open.

“Who lives here now?” Scorpius asked. He stared up at the house, taking in the white stone front, the large sash windows and the imposing ebony front door.

“Jonah, Karis, and an old housekeeper,” Harry muttered in reply. “Also, since his divorce, Marcus Flint has a room here, but he’s working abroad at the moment.”

“I know Marcus. One of dad’s friends, and his son was the year below me at Hogwarts.”

“David Flint, yes?” 

Scorpius nodded and was about to reply that Davey had never mentioned an Aunt Tamara, when the door opened. The woman standing there had huge arms; they really were the only thing Scorpius noticed. Her sleeves were rolled up almost to her shoulders, and the exposed skin was covered in flour. She looked as if she wrestled dragons for a living, but in reality, she’d probably been pounding bread dough. Hearing a muffled gasp, Scorpius was faintly amused but also intrigued to see Harry staring, his mouth open. Obviously sensing Scorpius’ scrutiny, he hastily resumed his most authoritative Auror expression, and announced himself to the housekeeper. 

“I know who you are, Potter,” she muttered mutinously. 

“That will be all, Bulstrode,” snapped a woman from the foot of the stairs. 

“Very good, Madam,” the housekeeper said, and stomped back down the hallway, presumably to the kitchen.

Karis Flint approached, smiling, but only slightly. In her youth, Scorpius knew she’d been feted by every wizard (and one or two witches, he’d been told) because of her famed beauty. She had to be in her mid-sixties now, but still held sway - her undeniable good looks unshaken by the years. It was only when she moved into the harsher light of the hallway, that he spotted the smattering of wrinkles around her eyes, but she soon fixed that by ushering them into a room, which was more dimly lit.

“You have to be a Malfoy,” she declared as she appraised Scorpius. “I knew your grandfather ... no, actually, I knew your great-grandfather. Darling Abraxas, it was such a shame.”

“What was?” Scorpius asked, forgetting for a moment that Harry had told him to stay silent. He glanced at Harry, but he waved his hand telling him to carry on.

“He died before we made it to the altar. Just think, I could have been your step-great grandmother,” she replied, then shuddered. “Merlin, that makes me sound so very old.”

“I find it hard to believe you knew my great-grandfather,” Scorpius replied smoothly. “And were you really set to marry him? You don’t look old enough.”

She narrowed her eyes and then to Scorpius’ surprise burst out laughing. “You certainly have the Malfoy charm.”

Harry coughed. “Madam Flint, is your husband here? It is him we really need to talk to.”

“Sleeping off a rather wild trip, I’m afraid,” she said insouciantly, “You may ask me your questions, though.”

Scorpius watched as Harry deliberated his options. He could demand to speak to Jonah, and risk him being so pissed off he would say nothing, or he could pave the way with Karis, who having been married to Flint for a surprising twenty-seven years, had probably met the sister.

“It’s about your husband’s sister ...”

“Tabitha?” Karis yawned. “What has she done now?”

“No, Tamara,” Harry said. “We understand she went missing nineteen years ago.”

Karis narrowed her eyes, perusing them both with very sharp scrutiny. Her eyes flickered to the newspaper on the coffee table. “Is this about that body discovered at Hogwarts?”

Glancing across at Harry, Scorpius was impressed by his focus. Not by one hint of his expression had he given away the truth. He leant forwards, saying, “I need to speak to your husband, Mrs Flint.”

“I’m sure you do,” she replied, sounding bored. Then she froze, and for a brief moment, Scorpius thought he glimpsed despair in her expression. “You really think it’s Tamara, don’t you?”

“We don’t know,” Harry replied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this to be such a shock to you. Did you know her well?”

“Not well,” she admitted. “Tamara had just started Hogwarts when I married Jonah.”

“But you saw her, I presume?”

She shook her head. “Not often. Jonah and I didn’t live here then. Tamara was his half sister, born when he would have been around eighteen. They had very little to do with each other.”

“Have you seen her since she disappeared?” Harry asked.

“I haven’t,” she replied, “but I cannot vouch for the others.”

“Then would you please wake your husband and tell him that this is important?” Harry murmured. 

She said nothing, but rose elegantly from her chair and slipped from the room. In a matter of minutes, she returned telling then that Jonah would be down soon and summoned the housekeeper to bring a tray of tea.

While they waited, Scorpius scrutinised the room instead of Mrs Flint. They were rather similar, he thought, stylish decor, not overdone, with deep red and gold plush curtains, set against pale ivory and gold walls. His mum would approve; although her taste veered towards pastel shades, she would recognise the importance of setting. 

“Potter, I’m honoured to receive a visit,” Jonah Flint declared as he walked into the room. Still not dressed, but wearing a silk dressing gown tied at the waist, he sat on the sofa next to his wife and waved at Bulstrode to serve the tea. “What’s this about?”

Harry flicked a look at Karis. “You haven’t told him?” 

“I thought it best coming from you,” she replied, and sipped at her tea. 

“What is going on?” Jonah asked edgily. 

“Mr Flint, you may have read a story in the  _Prophet_ about the body discovered in the grounds of Hogwarts,” Harry began. 

“A skeleton, I thought,” Jonah said. He picked up his teacup, and added two lumps of sugar, stirring slowly. 

“Yes, we don’t have much to go on, but we know it is a female between the age of thirteen and eighteen.” He paused, and gestured to Scorpius. “My assistant has been scouring lists in an attempt to narrow down the search. We’ve eliminated Battle victims, and other missing persons who are of the wrong age or stature.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

Karis came close to rolling her eyes, but instead she placed one hand on Jonah’s knee. “Darling, they think it’s Tamara.”

“Tamara?” The word came almost unbidden from his lips and Jonah Flint’s face paled, the excesses of the night before nothing compared to the shock now leeching on his cheeks.

“We don’t know,” Harry interjected. “I am hoping that you could tell me where she is? Or that there is something you could tell me that would eliminate her from our inquiry.” Jonah said nothing, just stared blankly at his wife. “Mr Flint,” Harry continued, his voice calm, “the person found was female and around five foot four. We cannot tell, yet, how she died, but we know your sister went missing nineteen years ago.”

“No,” Jonah muttered.

Harry blinked, then smiled. “You know where she is, then? That is good news.”

“No, she was not my sister,” Jonah muttered.

“Half sister,” Harry amended, frowning somewhat at the distinction Jonah appeared to be insisting on.

“Tamara was my daughter.” The words speared the room, echoing like a hex. Scorpius gaped at Jonah, waiting for the fireworks. He didn’t have to wait long.

“She was WHAT?” Karis turned on him, her eyes furious, her hands shaking so much her tea slopped over the rim of the bone china teacup. “And only now do you think it fitting to tell me?”

“I didn’t think I’d see her again!” Jonah protested. “She ... she ... she ... left the house swearing she’d never come back and never wanted to see any of us again!”

Scorpius frowned. “Mr Flint, when was this?” 

Jonah turned to Scorpius, appearing to notice him for the first time.

“Like you said, nineteen years ago. She’d had a row with her boyfriend, came back here, and then we got into an argument when I told her she had to return to Hogwarts.” He started to breathe heavily, and stretched out his hand to grasp Karis, but she flinched away. “Okay ... Tamara and I got into a fight. She said I couldn’t order her around because I was only her brother, and that’s when the truth came out.”

“Which was that you were her father,” Scorpius murmured. He turned to Harry. “If she came back here, then that’s not her at Hogwarts.”

“Unless she went back, or her father took her back,” Harry whispered. He turned back to Jonah. “Would have been very awkward telling your wife you had a daughter. I’m not surprised you were keen to keep it quiet. Permanently, perhaps?”

“NO!” It was Karis that spoke, her voice clear but shaking. “My husband would not have murdered the girl. He is far too close to his family, and protective of them to an intensely irritating degree.”

“I did not harm her,” Jonah insisted. “She packed her clothes and left. And I haven’t heard a word from her since.”

“You don’t care that she’s been missing all these years,” Harry said, in disbelief. “Your wife says you’re protective of your family. This was your daughter and you haven’t bothered to find out where she is!”

Jonah laughed bitterly. “That is not what I said, Potter. I know exactly where Tamara is.”

“Enlighten me,” Harry retorted.

He closed his eyes, and slumped back in his chair, looking far older than his fifty-odd years. “I got a Muggle girl pregnant. She wouldn’t abort, but said she’d put Tamara up for adoption. My father wouldn’t hear of that, so he and my step mother pretended she was theirs. They brought her up, but I wasn’t allowed to admit the truth to anyone.”

“Why not?” Harry asked. 

“Because Tamara is my heir, but she’s a half-blood, and that was anathema to my father.” Leaning across, he clasped his fingers around Karis’s hand, not letting her pull away. “I’m sorry. I should have told you years ago.”

“Where is she now?” Karis asked, her face frozen into an unreadable expression. “You need to tell Potter, he can’t rely only on your word, Jonah.”

“She calls herself Mara Stone and is a singer,” Jonah mumbled. “She’s quite successful in the Muggle world.”

There was a long silence. Scorpius fiddled with his notebook, jotting down everything he could remember. The whole story seemed dodgy to him, but he couldn’t tell what it was that didn’t ring quite true. 

“I’ve heard of her,” Harry mused, and smiled at Scorpius. “My cousin’s wife is a fan. I had no idea she was a witch.”

“She turned her back on our world,” Jonah said, his voice hollow. “As I said, she left screaming that she wanted nothing to do with us. Merlin, I thought she’d come back as soon as she ran out of money like the rest of my bloody family, but Tamara kept her word, and we’ve not seen her since then.”

“Mr Flint,” Scorpius said suddenly. Harry scowled at him but he carried on. “You said Tamara was a half-blood, so is she allowed to inherit this house?”Licking his lips, he was encouraged by Harry’s slight smile of approval. “There’s a clause in the Malfoy estate forbidding half-bloods from inheriting. I wondered if there was the same clause here, that’s all.”

“Purebloods take precedence, as do legitimate children” Jonah replied crisply. “But as I have no other heirs, Tamara can still inherit ... if she wants to.”

Leaving shortly after that, with no ceremony except the fearsome Bulstrode slamming the front door after them, Scorpius and Harry halted outside the iron gates, both taking deep lungfuls of fresh air.

“I would not want to be in Jonah Flint’s shoes at this moment,” Harry muttered, “but I bloody wish I had some Extendable Ears on me. That row will be spectacular!”

“She might just alter her ‘modus operandi’,” Scorpius agreed, smirking.

Harry laughed and then groaned. “That was our only lead. Damn, we’ll have to speak to the  _Prophet_  after all.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Scorpius asked as they started walking to the nearest Apparition spot.

“I think general details and then a photograph of the necklace, which reminds me ...” He grinned at Scorpius. “I haven’t sent Harper’s camera back, yet, and am not sure I should trust it by owl. Do you want to return it? In person.”

Another trip to Hogwarts. This time with official permission. How could he resist?

***

“Hello, Scorpius. You’re looking particularly pleased with yourself.”

Trying to compose a letter to Lily to tell her he’d be at Hogwarts on Friday, he looked up to find Lily’s mum standing by his desk. Sincerely hoping she wasn’t a mind-reader, he swallowed and smiled at her. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Just here to see to Harry,” Ginny replied. Clearing a small space, she perched on the edge of his desk, frowning slightly when she saw the headline of the newspaper. “I am sorry about James, by the way.”

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have said anything, even if I didn’t know he was there.”

“Mmm, possibly, but James needs to learn about responsible journalism, and at the moment he’s only concerned with the scoop and not the facts.”

“It’s okay,” Scorpius murmured, pleased to have her on his side, but starting to feel embarrassed now. “How’s Al doing?”

Ginny smiled warmly. “He’s doing very well, thank you. Still in Egypt for training, and then they fly to Thailand.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of travel,” Scorpius replied. He tried not to feel envious, but Albus’s training to be an Unspeakable was taking him all over the world, whereas he was stuck in Britain, with only the occasional jaunt to Hogwarts to keep him happy. 

“I think he’s missing his grandma’s cooking,” Ginny said. “And Merlin knows what he’ll look like when he gets back at Christmas. I’m expecting a straggly beard and a hideous amount of washing.” She turned away and hopped off the desk. “Which, in a roundabout way, is why I’m here. Is your boss around?”

At that moment, Harry walked out of his office. Approaching Ginny, he pecked her on the cheek before slapping five files on Scorpius’ desk. “These need filing,” he muttered then turned to Ginny. “Are we supposed to be meeting for lunch?”

“It’s barely eleven,” she said and started to laugh. “No, I’m here to remind you to pick up your robes from the cleaners. We have that party to attend tomorrow.”

Picking up the folders, Scorpius edged past them both and walked across to the filing cabinet. From the look on Harry’s face, whatever the party was, it was not something he was looking forward to. Scorpius smothered a snort as he watched Harry pull a myriad of expressions searching for an excuse.

“You are NOT pulling the ‘I’m too busy’ excuse, again!” Ginny exclaimed. “Yes, I know this is a murder enquiry, but if half of what James has written is true, then you taking one night off isn’t going to make the slightest bit of difference. I  _have_  to be there, and I’d like some support!”

“Ginny, I ... just can’t stand the guy, you know that, and having to attend his celebration party... Well, he won’t want me there, either. Can’t you go with Angelina? I bet George isn’t going.”

“No, she’s commandeered Oliver.” Scorpius caught the glare she was giving Harry, and felt a surge of sympathy having been on the end of a similar glare from Lily.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go, just don’t expect me to be civil to the guy. And congratulating him on his appointment. Just ... no!”

“He’s the new England manager!” Ginny exclaimed. “Yes, Smith’s an arse, but that’s quite an achievement.” She stepped back, folding her arms across her chest as she stared up at Harry. “Oh, fine, I don’t think I want to go with you, either. It will only set me on edge knowing you’re in this mood. Hell, I’d take James, but I’m too annoyed with him for screwing Scorpius over.... Oh ...” Ginny stopped speaking and side stepped towards Scorpius. “Hello.”

“Uh ... hello,” Scorpius replied warily.

She smiled winningly. “As you’ve probably heard, your boss isn’t really in the party mood, and I have a function to attend tomorrow. So ...” She scowled at Harry and then smiled again. “Would you like to come to the party instead? There will be a lot of Quidditch players there ...”

“Uh ...” Scorpius glanced at Harry, who was watching the exchange with a look of amusement. He shrugged at Scorpius, a gesture implying that he really wasn’t bothered. “Where is it?”

“At Zacharias Smith’s flat. He has this rather swanky pad in Chelsea with fantastic views over the Thames.”

He wrinkled up his nose, ready to decline, but Ginny had such a resigned look on her face as if she already knew his answer that on impulse, he nodded. “I’d like to,” he said. “But what should I wear?”

“Well, as it will be full of rowdy Quidditch players and the press, something you don’t mind getting drinks spilt on, food thrown at, or Quidditch groupies ripping off.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot thickening and leads seem to have Disapparated, but perhaps our hero's about to have some fun.


	4. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a few familiar faces in this chapter and ... the case will take a leap forwards.
> 
> Enjoy!

Zacharias Smith’s flat was already heaving with people when Scorpius and Ginny arrived at the party. Thrusting both the invite and her press pass under the nose of a servant guarding the door, Ginny strode into the hallway, barely waiting for Scorpius. He eyed the flat with interest. Despite being crowded, it looked spacious. The walls were dove grey (or falcon grey, more probably as he’d made his name with the Falmouth Falcons) and Smith had covered them with photographs of Quidditch players (only some of whom were himself) and paintings of famous matches. But despite the pictures, there was something impersonal about the place, as if it were a showroom, and not somewhere Smith lived.  
  
“Sorry,” Ginny exclaimed, when she saw him still standing in the doorway. “I’m so used to Harry knowing absolutely everyone, I forgot you won’t have met half of these people.”   
  
“Er ... that’s fine,” Scorpius muttered. “I recognise most of the people here, I think.” Taking off his cloak, he handed it to a house-elf, who bowed politely, then carried a pile of cloaks to a small cupboard. “Is that Oliver Wood?”  
  
“Mmm, I’ll introduce you if you like. He looks as if he could do with rescuing.”  
  
“Why?” Scorpius glanced at the man talking to Oliver. Tall, stocky and with a blond thatch of hair, he was telling a story to a crowd of people, most of whom were listening and laughing. Oliver, holding a glass of what looked like juice, was the only one not laughing, but had fixed a tight smile on his face as he nodded at the relevant points.   
  
“He’s being bored senseless by a colleague of mine, but ever the gentleman, he’s far too polite to tell him to get lost,” Ginny explained.  
  
“Another journalist?” Scorpius stared at the man again, taking in his frame, and a stomach just slightly too large for the shirt he wore. In comparison, Oliver looked spare, despite the breadth of his shoulders.   
  
“He was once upon a time. Now he’s in charge of the finances. Editor’s son, you see.” Then she sighed. “That’s me being a bitch. Cormac’s very good at his job, just a shame he’s such a prick.” Stopping to accept two glasses of champagne from a house-elf bearing a tray, Ginny handed one to Scorpius. She lifted her hand to Oliver, and seeing her, he detached himself from the group and walked over.  
  
“Thank Merlin you’re here,” he muttered. “If I had to listen to much more of McLaggen’s story, I’d have punched him.”  
  
“He seems to be popular,” Ginny remarked, as the crowd around him started to laugh.  
  
“They’re all drunk,” Oliver said dismissively. His eyes drifted to Scorpius, carefully assessing him. “You must be Scorpius. Angelina told me you’re working with Harry.”  
  
Scorpius felt his mouth dry and his tongue was suddenly too thick to speak. Oliver Wood, now nearly fifty, was a legend. Lily had mentioned him in passing as an old family friend, but he’d not pressed her for details. Now, with the man standing in front of him, he desperately tried to think of a reply that wasn’t gibbering nonsense.   
  
“Uh ... yes, I’m his ... clerk,” he stuttered. To his intense embarrassment, he could feel his face flushing and took a swig of the champagne. “I want to be an Auror, though.”  
  
“Scorpius is also a very good Seeker,” Ginny said.   
  
Oliver grimaced. “I know. To my disgust, your lot won the Championship four years in a row when  _you_  were playing.”  
  
“Not last year, though,” Scorpius said, and started to smile. The champagne was relaxing him, and Oliver, so scornful of Cormac’s stories, was genuinely interested when Scorpius recounted the school matches. And when Ginny wandered away, telling them she had to circulate, Oliver stayed with Scorpius.  
  
“Nothing quite like Hogwarts Quidditch. The rivalries were so intense,” he said. “Did you ever want to turn pro?”  
  
Scorpius shrugged. “Once, perhaps, but real life got in the way, and ... well, you have to want it, don’t you?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Oliver replied distantly. “It can take over your life. But sometimes I wonder how it was quite so obsessing. You’re right, though, there are plenty of good players, but only the ones who really want to play, and play well, will ever make it.” He shrugged. “And some of them, however much they want it, won’t succeed. In the end, no matter how good you are at school, it’s down to talent and a fair bit of luck.”  
  
A loud cry from the corner of the room stopped Scorpius’ reply. He recognised the new England manager, guffawing as a house-elf carrying a large cake in the shape of a Quaffle, decorated with the England flag, stopped in front of him.   
  
“Do you think he’ll do a good job?” Scorpius asked.   
  
Oliver shrugged. “Smith’s got a good tactical brain, and was a great captain for the Falcons. Whether he can coach an international team is another matter.”  
  
As everyone crowded forwards, congratulating Smith when he cut the cake, Scorpius stepped back and surveyed the room. He could see Ginny and Angelina standing by the wall, both ignoring the cake cutting ceremony, immersed in some private conversation. They were joined by a man who appeared to know both of them, for he draped his hands over their shoulders, kissing them both on the cheeks.  
  
“Who’s he?” Scorpius asked Oliver.  
  
“Huh?” Oliver followed Scorpius’ gaze, and then groaned. “Roger Davies. Was at Hogwarts with us. Good example of what I was just talking about. He played for the Puddlemere first team for a season or two, then moved back to the reserves. Never quite made it, although he was decent enough at school.”  
  
“Why’s he here then? Is he another journalist?” Scorpius asked, amused at the expression on Angelina’s face as she dodged Roger’s second attempt at a kiss.   
  
“Part of the crowd,” Oliver muttered. “He designs brooms now. Really that’s what he should have done in the first place.”   
  
“Do you think they need rescuing?” Scorpius asked.  
  
Oliver snorted. “I think both Angelina and Ginny are perfectly capable of dealing with an idiot like Davies. He’s harmless.”  
  
Possibly catching their scrutiny, Roger stopped leering and sauntered over to them both. “Gods, it’s Wood and  _Malfoy._  Never thought I’d see the day!” He squinted at Scorpius. “What are you doing here, Malfoy? No one likes you.”  
  
Scorpius met his gaze, locking in on the dissipated blue eyes and noting the black hair, threaded with grey. “I think you’ve mistaken me for my dad,” he said quietly.  
  
Davies didn’t blink, merely sneered. “Godric, Wood, you’re cradle- snatching now!” he brayed, his laugh discordantly at odds with the good humour in the room.  
  
“Scorpius is Ginny’s guest,” Oliver said mildly. “He works in the Auror Department with Harry and, from what I hear, has been dating his daughter for nearly a year.”  
  
The rebuke was obvious, but Scorpius hadn’t quite expected Davies to look so appalled. He spluttered an apology, backed away and then disappeared into the crowd.   
  
“Sorry about that,” Oliver muttered. “I should warn you that to a dick like Davies, the fact that we’re enjoying a conversation and not leering over a girl means we’re obviously going to end up in bed together.”   
  
Scorpius flushed, muttered something about wanting another drink, and reached out to grab another from a passing house-elf.  
  
“Don’t make the same assumption as Davies. You’re a good-looking lad, but that doesn’t automatically mean I fancy you,” Oliver murmured.   
  
“Sorry, I’m just -” He took a breath and then, putting his drink down on the table, he tried to explain. “I didn’t mean to imply anything, and it’s really not a problem to me whether you’re gay, straight, or who you fancy. It’s just ...”  
  
“Davies being an idiot makes you feel awkward about chatting to me.” Oliver shrugged. “Happens all the time. I suspect half this crowd will assume you’re Ginny’s toyboy.”  
  
“But ... that’s ...”  
  
“Outrageous, yeah. Welcome to the  _fabulous_  world of Quidditch and what it has become. You were right not to try out. The Auror department will be  _far_  less perilous.” Oliver laughed, his good humour fully restored.   
  
“What assumptions will they make about Davies?” Scorpius asked. “Or that bloke telling the boring story.” He inclined his head towards McLaggen, who was now sitting on the sofa between two girls, both of whom were giggling over something he was saying, whilst Smith topped up their glasses, a somewhat pained expression on his face as one of the girls spilt her drink on the cushion.   
  
Oliver snorted. “They’ll assume McLaggen’s going to get lucky and as for Davies .... well, I can’t see him now. Perhaps they’ll assume he’s had too much to drink and is throwing up in the toilet.” Finishing his drink, Oliver leant back against the wall. “Smith’s asked me if I want to coach the Keepers.”  
  
It was a clumsy change of subject, but Scorpius grabbed at it eagerly.   
  
“Are you going to accept?”  
  
“Not sure. He’s taking them on an overseas tour tomorrow, and I have a few close of season commitments to Puddlemere. I don’t exactly need the money, but for me, the challenge is everything.”  
  
“For me too,” Scorpius mused. “And not just in Quidditch.”  
  


****

  
  
The picture of the necklace appeared in Monday’s edition of _The Daily Prophet_  alongside a picture of Harry and some more details from him regarding the victim.  
  
‘According to the second post-mortem report, the victim has been dead approximately twenty to thirty years. She was somewhere between the age of thirteen and seventeen. Her robes were standard Hogwarts issue and not bespoke, so the only means of identification we have is a necklace found on her. It is of good quality gold and rather distinctive, so if you recognise it, then please contact the Auror Department.’  
  
“I hope that has the desired result,” Harry muttered from his desk. He looked up at Scorpius, blinked, and then his face cleared. “Harper’s camera, yes, it’s here. Leave early if you want, as you’ve been working weekends.”  
  
“Don’t you need me here?”  
  
“Not for anything in particular. Until St Mungo’s confirm cause of death, I’m not releasing any more details to  _The Prophet_. It’s wait and see for now.”  
  
“What about Tamara Flint?”  
  
"Ah ... yes, the mysterious Flint heir. Well, Jonah wasn’t lying. Mara Stone is his illegitimate daughter. I went to see her last night, when you were at that party, and while she doesn’t want anything to do with him, or the rest of them, she freely admitted who she was and had a stack of photographs to prove it.”  
  
“Does she know she’s the heir to the Flint estate?”  
  
“She’s not holding her breath. I think she expects Jonah to have another child, which would put her firmly on the bottom rung of the inheritance ladder.”  
  
Picking up the camera, Scorpius walked towards the door, but a thought occurred to him. “Uh, Karis Flint’s too old to have children, isn’t she?”  
  
“Mmm, but you heard Jonah; he could father an illegitimate kid and as long as it has a superior blood line to Tamara, then that child will inherit.”  
  
“Can’t see Karis Flint liking that.”  
  
“Not at all,” Harry agreed, his eyes twinkling. “But that’s no business of the Auror Department, however interesting it might be.”  
  
Scorpius sat back at his desk, smiling. On top of his folders was a copy of  _The Daily Prophet_ , and he sat back to read it, noting with a certain amount of satisfaction that the story about the necklace had not been written by James. Still annoyed at the previous story, he had refused to meet up with James to listen to any half-baked apologies. He accepted that James was only doing his job, but then he was, too, and if that meant forgoing a birthday beer, then tough.   
  
Reaching for his quill and a sheet of parchment, he scrawled a hasty note to Lily, telling her he’d be at Hogwarts this afternoon, ending with:  
  
 _‘Your dad has told me I can take the afternoon off. Not that I want you to bunk off lessons, but ...’_  
  
He smirked, added some kisses, and then went in search of an owl.  
  
Lily had replied almost immediately, sending a brief note with her owl, Pomme, who landed on Scorpius’ desk as he was drinking his mid-morning coffee. Pomme stared beadily at Scorpius, waiting for his treat before offering up his message.  
  
“You’re getting fat, Pomme,” Scorpius grumbled, but reached into his drawer and pulled out some dried apple slices. The owl pecked at them appreciatively and hopped on top of the in tray to preen whilst Scorpius read Lily’s reply.  
  
 _‘Can’t bunk off as I have Herbology this afternoon, and Natalie has called a Quidditch practise this evening.’_  
  
“Great!” Scorpius muttered.  
  
 _‘Herbology finishes at four, so I’ll meet you then. Greenhouse Five.’_  
  
He smirked again and folded the note carefully in his robe pocket. Greenhouse Five was the most isolated of Professor Longbottom’s classrooms, and at that time of day, everyone would be hurrying back to the castle for the feast.  
  
Timing his arrival at Hogwarts for half past three so he could pay a courtesy call on the Headmistress, Scorpius was unsurprised to see Lavender lurking in the Entrance Hall as he sauntered down the stairs from Vector’s office. Lavender waved cheerily to him, and despite knowing that she probably wanted to pump him for information, he gladly followed her to the Professor Zabini’s study, accepting the offer of tea and biscuits.  
  
“The professor has told me I’m not allowed to quiz you about the case,” she said, and gestured to him to follow her to their quarters behind the study. “But we can chat about other things, can’t we?”  
  
“Mmm, sure,” Scorpius replied warily. He had an hour to kill, after all, and usually enjoyed her company, especially when she took the piss out of her husband or filled him in on old gossip.  
  
He settled himself into a worn but comfortable brown armchair and waited while she busied herself in the kitchen. He was always vaguely surprised whenever he entered the Zabini’s living quarters. Used to his mum’s eye for decor, Lavender’s ‘style’ could at best be described as ‘eclectic’, although he thought haphazard was probably the more honest answer. There were books stacked on other books in the shelves, papers spread across a polished writing desk. Knowing the professor to be a man who appreciated order and method in his classroom, he wondered how he put up with the clutter.   
  
“I hear you visited my mother-in-law,” she called out.  
  
“Uh ... I can’t discuss the case,” he replied, on his guard again.   
  
“I know that,” she said, and reappeared in the room carrying a tray with two odd cups and a plate of rather dusty looking biscuits. “But, I am allowed to talk about my mother-in-law, and I swear I’m not about to spill all to the  _Prophet_. Karis would add me to her list,” she joked.  
  
Leaning forwards to accept his tea and help himself to a biscuit, Scorpius asked, “What did she tell you?”   
  
“Me, nothing, but to Blaise she spilled out the whole story. I just happened to be listening,” she replied airily and winked at him. “She told him all about Jonah’s daughter. Amused me, actually. The Flints were so bloody snotty about me being a half-blood. I can’t wait for the next dinner party.”  
  
“You’ve not written about it,” Scorpius stated, trying not to sound surprised. Lavender was a formidable journalist, one who gave  _The Prophet_  a certain respectability, but he couldn’t imagine her turning down the chance for this scoop.   
  
“I don’t think it’s in the public interest,” she explained. “I might be guilty of the occasional sensationalism, but I’m not going to write stories just to grab the front page. Your body isn’t Tamara, so printing the truth about her now won’t help anything.”  
  
“It’s a good story, though.”  
  
“With repercussions. From what Blaise told me afterwards, Tamara doesn’t want to be found. If, however, Jonah or Marcus start kicking off about blood status and inheritance laws, then I will have no choice but to spill the beans,” she said slyly.  
  
Scorpius nodded and relaxed again. He sipped his tea, ate his biscuit and listened as Lavender changed the subject, asking him about his family and lastly about Lily.  
  
“She’s fine,” he replied. “But the Hogsmeade weekend was a washout in more ways than one.” He faltered and then stared directly at her. “We all saw the body, and Lily was incredible; she didn’t panic or anything but I’ve not really spoken to her since. Has she been okay?”  
  
“A bit quiet,” Lavender murmured, “and shaken, as you’d expect, but I think she’ll be okay. Your girlfriend is a lot like her mum, you know. Plenty of guts.” She finished her biscuit and then sighed when she heard a baby crying. “Xander’s awake. I suggest you leave before I rope you into nappy changing duties.”  
  
“Er ... yeah,” Scorpius got to his feet and rapidly left the room. “Thank you,” he called out.  
  
“Remember me when I do want a scoop,” she called back and started laughing.  
  
Scorpius arrived at the greenhouses, slipping unobtrusively down the winding path and towards Greenhouse Five. He was early, and peeked through the glass, watching as Professor Longbottom handed out homework, and collected up the potting forks. Lily was with Hugo, both chatting as they packed up their bags. Then she stopped talking, and Scorpius could see her casting a glance at someone on the bench furthest away from her. Craning his neck, Scorpius watched as she told Hugo to go on, and then saw her approach the lone figure. Aaron was still seated, having made no effort to take off his apron, or pack his books away. He looked up when Lily approached, and Scorpius saw that when she touched him on the arm, he stood and smiled briefly at her.   
  
Again Scorpius was struck with how much Aaron had changed. The fifth year he’d briefly shared a dorm with last year was no longer the squat, spotty boy who’d been nervous around everyone. He was taller, tanned, and seemed to have found some confidence from somewhere. Then, as they moved towards the door, Scorpius ducked away, leaning against the wall so she didn’t know he’d seen her.  
  
Aaron held the door for her, nodding as she spoke in low tones, the words not reaching Scorpius’ ears. And then she touched his arm again, smiled softly as she tilted up her face to his, and murmured something else that was incomprehensible. Swallowing, Scorpius stepped into their path, his eyes coolly assessing Aaron.  
  
“You’re early!” Lily exclaimed.  
  
 _Sorry,_  he wanted to say, but that sounded sarcastic. Instead, he nodded brusquely and handed Aaron back his camera. “Harry says thank you,” he said stiffly.   
  
“No problem,” Aaron replied. He tried a smile at Scorpius, but must have seen something on Scorpius’ face because he stepped away and mumbled something to Lily, saying his goodbyes.  
  
“Bye then,” Lily called out. “And take care.” She sighed slightly, watching as Aaron disappeared along the winding cobbled path, then turned her attention to Scorpius. “It is fantastic to see you. How long have you got?”  
  
When she smiled at him like that, it was all Scorpius could do not to take her in his arms and snog the life out of her. But he hesitated.  
  
“You’re getting on with Harper, then? I thought you hated him.”  
  
“What?” Her eyes followed his, staring at the path. “Oh, well, I’ve spoken to him a little more since Saturday.” Then she grinned at Scorpius. “For a Slytherin, he’s okay.”  
  
He didn’t grin back. “What were you talking about? It seemed an intense conversation.”  
  
“I was asking how he was, that’s all.” Lily frowned. “What’s the problem?”  
  
“There is no problem. I’m just interested.” He stared moodily through the window. “How is he, anyway?”  
  
“He’s okay,” Lily replied, sounding arch, “but worried about Genister. I expect you remember her, don’t you?”   
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Nothing,” Lily replied. Hitching her bag over her shoulder, she took a step away. “Are we planning to do anything, or have you just come here to snap at me?”  
  
“I’m not snapping!” Then he grinned, hearing the ‘snap’ in his voice. Lily started to giggle, so he stepped towards her and kissed her hand. “Sorry, am I being a dick?”  
  
“A little,” she whispered, and wound her hands around his waist. “I was talking to Aaron because he has no one to talk to about what we saw in the forest. I have Hugo, and you, obviously, but Aaron’s on his own.”  
  
“Can’t he talk to Genister?”  
  
Lily shook her head. “She’s in the hospital wing as she keeps having nightmares about it all, and has barely slept for five days. According to Aaron, Madam Bones has prescribed her a dreamless sleeping draught.” Pulling away from him slightly, Lily stood on tiptoes and kissed him very gently on the mouth, before whispering, “Were you jealous?”  
  
“Was there anything to be jealous of? I suppose Harper’s good looking...if you like that sort of thing.”  
  
“It’s lucky for you, then, that your girlfriend has awful taste,” Lily said. She ran her hand down his back, resting her fingers on his hipbone and smiled up at him. “How long have you got before you have to get back?”  
  
“Long enough,” he murmured. He started to nuzzle her neck then groaned as her hand slipped inside his robe, searching lower. A noise dragged him away from the immediacy of the moment; he pulled on her arm. “Longbottom’s inside. We need to go somewhere else.”  
  
With a laughing gleam in her eyes, Lily picked up her bag, and led him further down the path and towards the Forest. “I still have that key for the changing rooms and my practise isn’t due to start for - Oh, hello, sir...”   
  
Swivelling around, hoping Lily was just having a joke with him, he grimaced when he found himself looking at Professor Longbottom, who was levitating a large plant and carrying a stack of parchment.   
  
“Er ... Scorpius came here to see Aaron, and ... uh ...” Lily stammered.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” Scorpius replied, far more smoothly. “I returned Harper’s camera, on Harry’s orders and Lily was with him, so we were just catching up before I leave. I hope that’s-”  
  
He stopped talking. Professor Longbottom wasn’t smiling but neither did he look angry. He turned his head over his shoulder, and started to speak to someone else. “You were right, Hannah, it is Scorpius.” Then, putting down the plant, he offered his hand to Scorpius, shaking it briefly. “It’s good to see you, and sorry if this delays you, but my wife needs to speak to someone about the ... ” he glanced at Lily, seeming to take heart from the fact that she was holding Scorpius’ hand, “... body from the forest. Hannah, tell Scorpius what you told me.”  
  
Hannah Longbottom stepped out of the greenhouse. She looked anxious and drawn, which was not an attitude Scorpius associated with her, as she was an unflappable landlady in the Leaky Cauldron, dealing easily with drunks or rowdy patrons.   
  
“Can I help you, Mrs Longbottom?”  
  
She swallowed and reached across for her husband’s hand, then swept away a few strands of hair falling across her face as she faced him and Lily. “It’s that necklace,” she said in her soft voice. “I recognise it.”   
  
Scorpius felt his mouth drop open and his heart thud with painful excitement. Beside him, he heard Lily take a breath, but his eyes were fixed on Hannah as she took a breath, gaining some strength it seemed from her husband’s presence.  
  
“Do you know who the necklace belongs to, then?”  
  
“Oh yes.” Hannah smiled sadly. “It’s mine. I lost it in my fifth year at Hogwarts.”  
  
“You lost it?” Scorpius tried not to groan. If she’d dropped it, then anyone could have found it. Although at least it narrowed down the timeframe.  
  
“Well, I could never prove anything,” she was saying, “but I think it was stolen because I used to keep it in a jewellery box and one day it wasn’t there.”  
  
Narrowing his eyes, Scorpius dropped Lily’s hand and stepped closer to Hannah. “Do you know who stole it, Mrs Longbottom?”  
  
She nodded and then bit her lip. “I suspected a girl I shared a dorm with. She left soon after and we never really heard from her again, apart from a postcard wishing us luck in our OWLs. I feel dreadful because I didn’t really like her much, and all I wanted was my necklace, but if that body is her, then -” She gulped and her face drained of all colour. “Merlin, this is worse than I thought. All those years of thinking badly of her ... it was my grandmother’s necklace, you see, and ... and ... and she couldn’t have returned the necklace to me, anyway - not if she was dead. Neville, what am I -”  
  
“Mrs Longbottom!” Scorpius interrupted. He could feel his heart quickening at her information. She started to shake.  
  
“Mrs Longbottom,” he repeated in a gentler tone. “Who do you think took the necklace?”  
  
She paused, took a breath to calm herself and then stared straight at him. “A girl called Sally-Ann Perks.”


	5. Threads

They used the Floo in Professor Longbottom’s office to get to the Ministry. Not shaking, but still quite pale, Hannah clutched her husband’s hand as she emerged from the fire and readily agreed when Scorpius offered her a seat while he went to get Harry.

“She’s sure?” Harry put down the document he was reading, and peered around Scorpius to where Hannah was sitting.

“She’s sure it’s her necklace, yes. But that name isn’t on any list. Is she someone you know ... or knew?”

“I didn’t know her,” Harry muttered. “But I vaguely remember the name. Okay, show them in, and bring in some tea, will you?” 

By the time Scorpius got back, having mustered up a clean teapot and four mugs (assuming Harry let him sit in on the interview), Hannah and Neville were sitting in comfortable chairs alongside each other. In his hands, Harry held the evidence bag containing the necklace. He nodded as Scorpius walked in and gestured to the wooden chair in the corner behind him. The meaning wasn’t lost on Scorpius; he was allowed to be part of the interview, but he was very much taking a back seat.

“Hannah,” Harry began gently. “I’m sure you can understand, but I need to ask you some questions about the necklace. I don’t doubt that you had one, but this could be a copy, or maybe your memory isn’t that clear after all these years.”

“She’s not lying,” Neville muttered, placing one hand protectively on Hannah’s knee.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, turning her face to Neville and smiling faintly. Then she faced Harry. “I’d really rather it wasn’t mine, but the photograph in the paper was a good one, and I have pictures of myself wearing it, if you need proof.”

“That would be good,” Harry replied. “We will need something for verification.”

“The way to tell it’s really mine, though, rather than a copy, is that there’s a tiny clasp on the back of the horseshoe.”

Harry darted a look at Scorpius. No one had spotted this. Was it another dead end?

“There’s no clasp, Hannah,” Harry said, his hand furling around the bag.

“It’s very tiny,” she replied. Stretching out her hand, she waited. “Harry, if I can open it, then it proves my story, doesn’t it?”

He opened the bag, but before he handed the necklace over, Harry asked one more question. “Is there anything inside?”

“Three threads,” she murmured, “of silk.”

Scorpius leant forwards, trying to hear what she was saying.“Threads?” 

She nodded and then looked across the desk at him. “One from my great grandma’s wedding dress, one from Granny Abbot’s and one from my mum’s. I was supposed to add my own when I got married, but well, I didn’t have-”

Dropping the necklace into her hand, Harry shifted back slightly, but Scorpius noticed his eyes were firmly fixed on Hannah’s fingers as she handled the pendant. There was a very audible gasp as her forefinger touched one of the small diamonds in the necklace. She gulped, then turning the necklace over, she traced the outline of the horseshow with her fingernail, until she came to a very small ridge and pressed. 

It sprang open, and in a sad kind of triumph, she displayed the necklace on her palm, showing them all the hairline threads contained inside. 

Harry whistled and sat back in his chair. “Okay, Hannah, you’ve certainly convinced me, but I will need to see a photograph, or something to back up your identification.”

“I understand.” Hannah nodded, carefully closed the horseshoe, and handed it back to Harry. “I expect you want to ask about Sally-Ann now, don’t you?”

Harry glanced back at Scorpius, inviting him forwards. “Scorpius has been diligently working his way through a missing person’s list, and her name hasn’t appeared. Do you know why that would be? I can’t believe she just disappeared and no one noticed.”

“Well, she wasn’t missing,” Hannah argued. “She left Hogwarts, didn’t take her OWLs, and the last we heard she’d moved abroad.”

“But someone must have followed it up,” persisted Harry. “Dumbledore would have wanted to know why. And Madam Sprout.”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “It was a long time ago, but from what I remember she did follow it up. That was how we knew Sally-Ann had gone abroad.”

“And you didn’t keep in touch?” There was no reproof in his voice, all Harry wanted was a recount of the facts, but Hannah winced.

“Sally-Ann wasn’t popular. I’m sorry to say this, but ... Susan, Megan and I didn’t get on with her, and after a while she kept herself to herself.”

“She shared a dorm with you,” Harry stated, again his voice was neutral, but this time Neville reacted.

“Harry, you shared a dorm with me for six years and knew sod all about my life.”

“Yeah, point taken,” Harry muttered. He picked up his mug of tea, sat back and shrugged at Scorpius. 

Taking his cue, Scorpius cleared his throat. “Mrs Longbottom, who were Sally-Ann Perks’ friends?”

“I’m not sure she had any,” Hannah muttered. She stared at the necklace in her hand, seeming to take comfort from it. “Sally-Ann was a Muggle-born, and from the first day at Hogwarts, all she talked about was her family and how much money they had. She laughed at Megan’s hand-me-downs and teased me for having plaits and being fat. She was friendlier with Susan, but Susan saw right through her.

“Look, I know this sounds horrible, but after the first few months, Sally Ann just didn’t bother with any of us. We didn’t ignore her, and I don’t remember any rows, but we weren’t friends.”

“Is there anything else you can remember about her, or maybe her family?” Harry asked. “It’s not definitely her. It’s possible she sold the necklace on, but I need to chase this lead, so any other information you have-”

“Sorry,” she muttered and shook her head. “I really knew nothing about her. None of us were invited to the posh house she went on about, and we never met her family. She used to be met at King’s Cross by a dowdy looking woman - one of the servants she told us - but she never introduced us.”

Sighing, Harry concluded the interview. Telling Hannah she could have the necklace back once she’d provided the other proof, he ushered both her and Neville out of his office. Scorpius followed as they walked from the office and towards the lift and then, on Harry’s instructions, accompanied the Longbottoms to the atrium. 

As the Longbottoms prepared to take the Floo back to Hogwarts, something clicked in Scorpius’ mind. 

“Did Sally-Ann have a boyfriend?” he asked on impulse. 

Hannah turned, relinquishing Neville’s arm and stared at Scorpius, her forehead creased in concentration as she thought. “I ...” She shook her head. “Sorry, I think she might have done, ‘cause she was a pretty girl, but I have no idea who it was.”

Smiling again, Scorpius said goodbye and waited out of politeness until they’d both stepped into the Floo. Then, he turned on his heels and rushed back to the office.

“We have a name,” Harry said when he saw him. “Now we need to check out her family and see what their story is.”

“Where do we start?” Scorpius asked.

“Her old Head of House, Professor Sprout, now retired and living near Kew.”

“I had an idea,” Scorpius blurted out and when Harry signalled for him to continue, he sat down and explained the theory formulating in his mind. “That hut we were sheltering in is off the normal path into Hogsmeade. I’d not seen it before. So, what if our victim  _met_ someone there, and that’s where she was murdered?”

“And if you arranged to meet someone that far into the Forest, it would have to be someone you knew well, and trusted,” murmured Harry, more to himself than to Scorpius.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. It’s so out of the way that she must have wanted it kept a secret.”

“Very good thinking. So ... a boyfriend, perhaps.”

Scorpius swallowed, hoping he hadn’t gone too far, then admitted that he’d asked Hannah if Sally-Ann had had a boyfriend. “She’s not sure,” he said quickly before Harry could object, “but thinks it’s likely. Sorry, should I have kept quiet?”

Shaking his head, Harry wrapped his hands around his mug of tea and took a sip. “Hannah will keep thinking about it now, and hopefully she’ll come up with some more names. Meanwhile, we’ll go and see Pomona Sprout tomorrow, and then the other girls in that dorm.”

“Do you know where they are?”

Harry nodded. “Well, I know where Susan is. She designs jewellery and has a shop in Diagon Alley. Megan Jones ... not so sure. Another girl from Hufflepuff that I never knew.”

***

Pomona Sprout had retired from Hogwarts nineteen years ago. Unlike Professor Flitwick, who had retained a room at Hogwarts and could be seen pottering about the school on odd occasions, she had moved back to the south of England and now lived in Kew. Now in her eighties, she still worked, but voluntarily for the Muggles running Kew Gardens. 

She greeted Harry warmly when he approached, getting up slowly from the ground where she’d been kneeling and brushed the mud off her skirt. Casting a cursory eye over Scorpius, she didn’t look in the least put out to see him there, offering them both a cup of tea in the shed around the corner.

“Don’t say a word,” she whispered to them both as she used her wand to heat up the water in the kettle. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Professor,” Harry replied, grinning.

“I’m not your professor anymore, Harry, and I think after all this time you may call me Pomona.” Tipping the boiling water into a chipped china teapot, she quickly rinsed out three mugs, then poured the tea, gesturing that they should help themselves to milk and sugar. 

Declining the small garden stool she offered him, Scorpius stood by the door, letting Harry take a deckchair while Pomona Sprout settled herself in an old but comfortable- looking armchair. She frowned in concentration when Harry explained why they were there. 

“Of course I remember the girl,” she began. “What do you need to know?”

“Where she is, primarily,” Harry replied. “If you have any news about her, or failing that her family, then that at least gives us some leads to follow up.”

“Family?” she queried. “Harry, my dear boy, she had no family. Sally-Ann came to Hogwarts using the Pupil Assistance fund.”

“Er ... what?” Harry sounded as astonished as Scorpius felt. “Hannah Longbottom told us that Sally-Ann was a Muggle born from a very rich family.”

Madam Sprout coughed sceptically. “Miss Perks lived in what Muggles call a care home. Her mother died when she was seven, and no one knew who her father was.”

Whistling, Scorpius tapped Harry on the shoulder. “Explains why she never invited them to her house, I suppose. Who was the servant at the station, do you reckon?”

“Her social worker, maybe?” Harry murmured. Removing his glasses, he wiped them on his sleeve, then rubbed the bridge of his nose before replacing them. “Madam - Pomona, when did Sally Ann leave?

Pondering the question, Pomona stared out of the small shed window, concentrating hard before replying. “Easter holidays. I should have been alerted, I suppose, because OWL and NEWT students tend to stay for Easter so they can revise for their exams, and she always had before. But ... well ... I knew she wasn’t popular, and things were always tense around exam time so her decision to go home for the holidays didn’t seem that unusual.”

Harry nodded. “What happened when you discovered Sally-Ann hadn’t come back?”

“Well, I wrote to the care home, naturally, and received a letter back.” She paused to blow on her tea. “The head of the home said Sally-Ann had moved out.”

“And you left it at that?” Scorpius was astounded.

“Of course I didn’t!” she snapped, her expression rebuking him so fiercely he almost dropped his tea. “I went there in person. The woman was harassed, up to her eyes in problem children, but she had a letter from Sally-Ann for me.”

“Which said what?” Harry asked, his voice neutral.

“That now she was sixteen she didn’t have to stay in school and so she’d decided to leave. There was something about a boyfriend. He was going to take care of her, so ...” Pomona’s voice trailed off. “I made other enquiries, but there was no trace of her. Then, as I was about to report Sally-Ann missing, I received a postcard from her saying she was having a marvellous time travelling.” Thoughtfully, she put her tea down without drinking a drop. “You think this body in the forest is her, don’t you?” 

For a moment, Harry didn’t speak, and then Scorpius saw him incline his head. “We don’t know for sure, but so far she’s the only name we have. The stumbling point is that the care worker saw her, although ...” He pondered something and then glanced back at Scorpius. “What do you think?”

“Is it possible she changed her mind and decided to come back?” Scorpius asked. “Maybe she got in touch with Professor Dumbledore instead of you?” He was surprised when both Harry and Pomona shook their heads. “Why not?”

“In the middle of my fifth year, Professor Dumbledore left Hogwarts,” Harry explained. 

“And Dolores Umbridge was not someone a girl like Sally-Ann would have written to,” chipped in Madam Sprout. 

Comprehension dawned. Scorpius knew all about Dolores Umbridge having read the transcripts of her trial in his Second War History of Magic class. “So it’s not her, then,” he stated, trying not to sound exasperated by another dead end.

Harry got to his feet, smiled grimly, and then shook Madam Sprout’s hand. “Thank you for your help, Pomona. If there is anything else you can remember, then please do not hesitate to get in touch.”

“Yes, yes, I will. Certainly I will,” she replied, sounding a little flustered. She held her hand out to Scorpius, and he could feel the dryness of her palms, hands more used to honest earth than manicures. “Nice to meet you, young Malfoy. Remember me to your mother, will you?”

“You taught my mother?”

“Yes, she was a charming girl. Your aunt Daphne was the better student, perhaps, but Astoria worked hard. Shame she left, really.”

“Yeah, my fault, I’ve been told,” Scorpius muttered.

Pomona winked at him. “I’m more inclined to blame your father, but I suspect your mother would rather have you than a clutch of OWLs and NEWTs.”

He grinned at her, then, a genuine smile at the warmth behind her words. “Not quite sure she’d have agreed when I used to place my jammy hands on her best robes, but ... thanks.”  
She waved them off, exhorting Harry to keep in touch, and then returned to her trowel and trug, heartily content with the shrubs and flowers of Kew.

“She’ll have the biggest and best looking flower beds in this place,” Harry said, smiling as they left the gardens. 

“Where does this leave us, though?” Scorpius asked despondently. “If Sally-Ann Perks didn’t come back to Hogwarts, then that’s not her body.”

“I’m not discounting her until I’ve found out two things,” Harry murmured.

“Which are?”

“How did our victim get hold of Hannah’s necklace, and who was this boyfriend she was running away with?”

***

Jacob Proudfoot was working at his desk when they returned. As Harry stopped by his desk, he looked up and started to talk in a low voice. Whether this was done deliberately to exclude him, Scorpius didn’t know, but he edged closer, on the off chance.

“Megan Jones is now Megan Derwent,” Jacob was saying. “She used to work as a receptionist at St Mungo’s, but when she left when she had kids. I had a quick Floo conversation with her while you were out, but she couldn’t tell me much. Mind you, she’s just had a fourth kid, so she was up to her eyes in nappies and baby food.”

Harry pondered for a while. “See if you can talk to her again; go round in person, Jacob, as you’ve already spoken to her.” Plucking a quill from a pot, he scribbled down an address. “Then check out this address; it’s a care home in Cornwall. See if any of them remember Sally-Ann Perks or know where she might be.”

Jacob nodded and stood up to leave, brushing past Scorpius on his way out and causing him to stumble. For a moment, Jacob said nothing, but then he stepped back. “Sorry, lad didn’t see you there. You need to stop skulking behind Harry all the time.” He smiled, possibly to take some of the sting out of his words, and then waved his wand at a sheaf of parchment scrolls, levitating them so they hovered in front of Scorpius. “My notes need transcribing and then filing.”

“Do it-” ‘yourself’ he started to say, but Harry interrupted.

“He’s with me for the foreseeable future, Jacob,” he murmured, a hint of steel in his voice. “And we’re off to see the other girl from that dorm, so you’ll have to sort out your own notes.”

Jacob shrugged, raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. As he left the office, Harry turned to Scorpius. “Jacob is old school. He’s a good Auror, but he comes from a time when the Auror department had their own secretarial staff. You’re a clerk, but that doesn’t mean you’re here to do  _his_  work.”

“Is that all?” Scorpius asked.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Thinking back over the last two months, Scorpius thought out his reply carefully. “I don’t think I misheard him when he said the victim was over seventeen. Also ... he doesn’t like me assisting you. Thing is, if there’s something going on, I’d like to know about it.”

“Jacob Proudfoot, as I said, has a lot of experience. He’s been in the department for years, long before I came here.” Harry stopped speaking.

“I’m not imagining it, though. He doesn’t like me,” Scorpius stated.

Sighing, Harry leant back on Jacob’s neatly ordered desk and grimaced. “It’s not you, Scorpius. He’s a man with a long memory and he holds grudges. He lost two colleagues at the Battle of Hogwarts and saw others go free-”

“Like Dad.”

Harry fidgeted uncomfortable but held eye contact. “Not just your dad, but you being here has, I think, brought certain things back to haunt him.”

“That’s hardly my fault.”

“No, of course not,” Harry reasoned, “and I don’t think Jacob means to be unfair, but ...” He shook his head. “Look, forget about it. He’ll accept you soon enough. Meanwhile, let’s go and see Susan.”

“Sure,” Scorpius agreed, trying to sound reassured, but inside he could feel the frustration boiling. 

***

Bedazzled Gems was situated on the corner of Diagon Alley where it met Knockturn Alley. The address, just on the good side of the Magical world, nevertheless gave Susan Bones’ jewellery shop a certain cachet. Scorpius had heard of the place because his mum dropped enough hints for her birthday, but he’d never ventured inside knowing the prices were far beyond him. 

As they waited for Susan to appear, he studied at the jewellery in the glass cases. A pair of earrings caught his eye, small winged Snitches, sparkling under the lights. Smiling, he thought of Lily, and then swallowed hard when he saw the price. 

“Harry, it’s good to see you.” Scorpius looked up to see a small, wiry woman with short red hair approaching them, a smile on her face. “And you must be Scorpius Malfoy.” Her smile didn’t flicker. “I have heard a lot about you from Hannah and also my cousin.”

“Your cousin?” Scorpius asked, unsure if this was a good or bad thing.

“Madam Bones at Hogwarts. I believe you were a frequent visitor to the hospital wing.”

Ah, a bad thing. Madam Bones, the Hogwarts matron, was notoriously humourless. He wondered, gazing at Susan who was watching him with amusement in her eyes, how they could possibly be related.

“Anyway, Harry, Hannah told me you’d be calling, so if you want to step up to my flat, we can talk there.”

They both followed her up a set of narrow winding stairs until they reached an open plan room above the shop. The first thing Scorpius noticed was a wooden table with one stool tucked underneath. On top of the table were several sheets of parchment, some screwed up, and several pencils. 

“I work here,” Susan explained. “This is where I hatch my designs. I saw you admiring the Snitch earrings, Scorpius. I have more in my Quidditch range, if you’re interested.”

“Bit out of my price range,” he murmured, then fearing that sounded rude, added, “But if I had the money I’d definitely buy them.”

She inclined her head slightly, not in the least offended, and gestured for them both to pull up a stool. “When Hannah told me who you were looking for,” she said, walking to a shelf on the other side of the room and pulling down a tattered book. “I remembered this.”

“Which is what?” Harry asked, curious.

“Hmm, well, when we left Hogwarts, I was the one clearing our dorm. Megan was badly hurt in the Battle and didn’t return that year, and Hannah was helping some of the others, so I was left to tidy. I was scanning the room for magical concealment, mainly because I didn’t want any of Megan’s things to be left behind, when this fell out from behind a floorboard.” She smacked her lips together. “It’s Sally-Ann’s diary.”

“Her diary ...” Harry stretched out his hand and took it from Susan. “Have you read it, or is that something you couldn’t do?”

Susan snorted. “Sally-Ann once found my diary and read it out to the entire common room, so I bloody well would have done.” Her mouth twisted into an annoyed grimace. “Unfortunately, there was some sort of charm on it, and I couldn’t open it.”

“You kept it, though.”

“Mmm, thing is, Sally-Ann had hidden it for a reason, even if we couldn’t read it. At the time, it didn’t feel right getting rid of it and then ... well ... I suppose I forgot I had it.”

“Miss Bones, have you heard from her since she left?” asked Scorpius.

She looked away from Harry, and stared at him. “We had a card from her, wishing us well in our OWLs, but that was it. Quite surprised to get that, to be honest.”

“You weren’t friends, we know that,” Harry said. “But she must have been close to someone. A boyfriend, perhaps?”

“Mmm, there was someone. That idiot in Gryffindor. She was seeing him for a while. Not that she told us about it, but I saw them once emerging from one of the classro-”

“Which idiot?” Harry interrupted. He smiled deprecatingly at her. “We were all a bit stupid at that age.”

“The big blond boy,” Susan replied. “Hell, I can’t remember his name, but he was the one that ended up in the hospital for a month after eating the doxy eggs -”

“Cormac McLaggen?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “That’s it! I’d had to take Sally-Ann to see Madam Pomfrey after she slipped on a Shrivelfig and broke her leg; Cormac was in there at the time. That must have been where they met.”

Scorpius swivelled to face Harry. “He was at that party I went to.”

“And he’s who we need to speak to next,” Harry murmured. He turned back to Susan. “You don’t have a photograph of her, do you? It might jog a few more memories.”

Shaking her head, Susan apologised. “When the Carrows took over at Hogwarts, they were searching all our possessions, and, well, it occurred to Ernie that they’d be after anything that could identify Muggle-borns. I didn’t particularly like Sally-Ann, but there was no way I’d have wanted her to face the Registration Committee. All the photos we had of her or Justin were burnt.”

As they left, Harry thanking Susan again for her help, Scorpius expressed his annoyance at no photograph.

“It was a good precaution at the time,” Harry replied. “They wouldn’t have known that Sally-Ann couldn’t be found, after all.”

Halting in the street, Scorpius questioned Harry. “So you’re saying our victim is definitely her then."

Harry pulled the diary out of his robe pocket. “We can’t be definite, not yet, but you heard Susan. Sally-Ann left this behind.” He turned it over in his hands, fingering the cover with his forefinger. “It’s been Charmed with a very strong charm to stop them reading it and was hidden in the wall. Sally-Ann thought it was important, so why would she leave it behind?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, perhaps the diary is the key . . . But how will they read it?


	6. Blast from the Past

Cormac McLaggen gave Harry a cursory glance when they walked into the newsroom, no doubt thinking he was there to see James or Ginny, and although he did a small double take when he saw Scorpius, he carried on his conversation with a youngish witch who was wearing a top that left little to the imagination. 

In the confined space of this room, and not Smith’s spacious apartment, McLaggen seemed even more noticeable, but Scorpius wasn’t sure if it was because he had authority, or whether he just had a louder voice than everyone else did. On their way to _The Prophet’s_  offices, Harry had given Scorpius a little background on the man, telling him he’d been in Gryffindor, was a year above Harry and had played Keeper for one game when Ron had been injured. Seeing him now, Scorpius could believe that, for McLaggen was tall and broad, and although his blond hair was thinning, and his waist had thickened, he looked in reasonably good physical shape. 

“Might we have a word, McLaggen?” Harry asked politely.

McLaggen, frowning as he amended the witch’s ledger, gave her a small smile, then waved her away. “What can I help you with, Potter? I’m not working in the newsroom anymore, but I’m sure if you ask your son, he’ll do the Auror Department another favour.”

“No, a word with you ... personally,” Harry said; his voice although low, caused the newsroom to fall silent. 

“Can it wait? I’m due to chair a finance meeting with the advertisers,” McLaggen replied, sounding authoritative.

Over at the far side of the room, Scorpius watched as James got to his feet, grabbing a quill and notepad, and edged closer to them. McLaggen, failing to understand just why Harry needed to speak to him, turned away, obviously assuming he was free to go.

“Your meeting will have to wait,” Harry replied. “We need to speak to you on a matter of some importance.”

“Hold on,” McLaggen interrupted. “Am I under arrest for something?”

“No,” Harry replied.

“Then I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Potter, you can make an appointment with my secretary.”

“I could do it here,” Harry replied mildly, then leant forward, whispering, “It’s about an old girlfriend of yours.”

McLaggen smirked. “I have several exes, Potter. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“This one disappeared several years ago,” Harry said, still quietly. He held McLaggen’s gaze. “McLaggen, we’re investigating a possible murder. Do you really want me to conduct this interview in a room full of journalists?”

The smirk left his face and his jaw dropped. But as comprehension dawned, his bullishness quickly reasserted itself. “My office is through that door, Potter. I can give you ten minutes.”

“Hey, Scorpius,” hissed James as they walked past. “What’s going on?”

Scorpius looked back over his shoulder, saw the intense scrutiny in James’ eyes, and stepped back to him. Beckoning him to come closer, Scorpius whispered slowly and with deliberation, “After the stroke you pulled with me, Potter, all I will say is ‘No comment’.”

“It was work, that’s all,” James muttered. “Don’t take it so bloody personally. Look, this is obviously to do with the case, so ... uh ... how about we meet up later?”

“Are you asking me out?” Scorpius said, laughing loudly. “Only I’m seeing your sister, and you’re really not my type.”

McLaggen’s office was reasonably large. Knowing his father was the editor and a shareholder for  _The Prophet_ , Scorpius wondered if nepotism had anything to do with McLaggen’s position at the paper, but Ginny had said he was good at his job, and he certainly had a confident air about him.

“I said I’d give you ten minutes, Potter,” McLaggen muttered. “I’m sure you’ll only need five if you cut the crap and get to the point.”

Raising one eyebrow, Scorpius caught Harry’s similarly incredulous expression and waited for his boss to speak. But Harry stepped to the window of the office, looking down at the street, and waited. 

Following his cue, Scorpius kept his mouth shut, and leant against the wall his arms folded as he watched McLaggen. Up close, and not surrounded by groupies or minions, he looked far less at ease, all bonhomie gone. 

“Is this about the body in the Forbidden Forest?” McLaggen asked when the tension had peaked to unbearable.

“It’s about a missing girl,” Harry said. “We’ve been told she used to go out with you.”

Regaining some of his swagger, McLaggen sat back in his chair. “As I said, I have had a lot of exes. You need to give me a name.”

Harry flicked his attention to Scorpius, giving him a quick nod. 

“Sally-Ann Perks,” Scorpius said, watching McLaggen intently.

He shifted on his chair, his eyes wary. “That was years ago. I was still at school.”

“And she’s not been seen since school,” Harry murmured. “Unless you’ve had any contact with her.”

“No... No ...” McLaggen’s hand gripped the arm of his chair, his knuckles turning white. “Last time I saw her was ... Hogwarts Express. And I’d finished with her by then. Bloody embarrassing, she kept chasing after me, wanted to get back together, but ... well, I had other ideas.”

He was nervous and babbling, Scorpius thought, but he didn’t know why. 

“She was on the train?” Harry questioned. “You definitely remember that?”

“Yes.” He unclenched his hand, the colour flooding back into his white fingers, and cleared his throat. “It was the Easter holidays and the train was quiet. Very few people even went home at Easter because of the exams, but I used to work for my dad and catch a few Quidditch games, so I never stayed for the holidays, unless there was something on - like the Yule Ball.”

Harry nodded and muttered his thanks. Then, to Scorpius’ surprise, he walked towards the office door, indicating that the interview was at an end. Out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius saw relief sweep over McLaggen’s face coupled with a suggestion of a sneer. But, just at that point, Harry whipped around.

“Did she have her wand?”

McLaggen faltered. His brow creased in furious concentration as he thought, and then he nodded. “Yes, she did.”

“You’re sure of that?”

Looking away, McLaggen grimaced. “She ... uh ... hexed me.”

“Why?” Scorpius asked, unable to contain himself. 

He didn’t think he was imagining the evasion in McLaggen’s eyes. Whilst licking his lips, he appeared to think, but then stared across at Scorpius, his look daring him to disagree. “I told you, she wanted to go back out with me and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I suppose I could have strung her along for a bit longer, but that’s really not very gentlemanly, so I thought it was for the best to be honest ...” 

_He’s still licking his lips,_  Scorpius thought.

“And then she hexed me,” McLaggen finished. “Stinging jinx right to the balls.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “That would certainly be memorable. Tell me, did you see her on the way back?”

McLaggen shook his head. “I wasn’t exactly looking out for her after the first journey. Is that everything?”

“For now,” Harry replied smoothly. “Don’t Disapparate on me, though. I’d hate to have to waste my time tracking you down.”

 

Rather than take the Floo, they walked out of  _The Prophet’s_  offices, more or less in silence, for although Scorpius’ mind was buzzing with questions, Harry seemed lost in thought. It was a grey day outside, the chill and drear of November taking its toll on the London landscape, and Scorpius huddled into his cloak, trying to make sense of everything he’d heard. 

“What did you think of McLaggen?” Harry asked abruptly.

“Erm ... bit of a prat, to be honest,” Scorpius replied.

Harry smiled. “Yeah, he is, but I meant what did you think of his story?”

“Er ... well, it sounded plausible,” Scorpius said. He slowed his pace in keeping with Harry’s more measured tread. 

“I sense a ‘but’,” Harry muttered.

“I’m not sure he was telling the whole truth. He seemed ... um ... evasive.”

“Could have been his memory,” Harry said, shrugging. “It was over twenty-eight years ago.”

“He remembered her very clearly, though,” Scorpius said, thinking aloud. 

“Mmm, funny, that,” Harry replied. He sped up, but instead of taking the right turn back to the Ministry, he kept walking.

“Where are we going?”

“St Mungo’s,” Harry replied. “I want to chase up cause of death.”

Scorpius had been to Magiforensics only once before when he’d first joined the department. On that occasion, he’d been obliged to visit the mortuary to pick up a report from the Forensic Healer, and although he’d been given the option of staying to watch a post-mortem, he’d pled pressure of work and beat a hasty retreat. It wasn’t that he was particularly squeamish, but Felix Frogmore did seem to take an inordinate amount of interest in dissecting the bodies presented to him, and there was something ghoulish about his delight when he set to work. 

On arrival, Harry and Scorpius were waved through by the receptionist, and made their way down to the mortuary. Sitting at one of the metal tables (fortunately not housing a body) with a folder and a mug of tea, Felix greeted them with an air of distraction, his light brown hair fluffed and messy, as he chewed on a quill and made some amendments to a report.

“What can I help you with, Harry?” he asked at last.

Pulling up a chair, Harry explained the trouble they were having identifying the body. “I wasn’t sure whether there was any more information you could glean from the skeleton, or if anyone from your department had recovered anything else from the robes.”

“Ah yes, the robes.” Felix took a sip of his tea. “There’s a stain on them. It’s degraded, obviously, but it’s definitely blood, and rather a lot of it.” He chuckled at Scorpius’ bemusement. “It means she was alive when she was hit on the head. If she’d been dead, then the blood loss would have been minimal. Cause of death is head trauma.”

“So it is murder,” Harry said.

“Could have been an accident,” Felix replied. “She might have fallen backwards and hit her head on something.”

“Doesn’t explain why she was buried under a tree,” Scorpius interrupted.

Felix drank some more tea and turned to Harry. “He’s getting sharper, your new assistant.”

“He’s right,” Harry said, stifling a yawn. “Merlin, I’m sorry, we’ve been working flat out on this for the past week. And still not much closer to an identification. Is there anything else you can tell us about our victim?”

“Very little to tell. Once we’d cleaned off the mud, we knew for certain she was a female, around the age of sixteen, I’d say, because of the tooth formation. I’ve contacted a Squib dentist I know and he’s going to see if he can locate any dental records for your girl. The little hair remaining was dark and long.”

“No evidence of anyone else on her robe, I suppose?” Harry asked.

He shook his head. “There was one thing, though. It has nothing to do her death, but may help you identify her.” He paused for an annoyingly long moment while he finished his tea. “Ah, that was good.”

“Felix!” Harry exclaimed. “Get on with it!”

“Oh, yes ... Your girl had a previous fracture in her leg. It had healed, but I would say it had happened just a few months before her death.”

Harry let out a low whistle and twisted around to face Scorpius. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Sally-Ann Perks broke her leg. That’s what Susan Bones told us,” Scorpius said and grinned as he heard the excitement mounting in his voice. “Is that enough for us to arrest -” 

“It’s enough for us to go back and talk to someone,” Harry interrupted. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he warned Scorpius to say nothing else. “But not yet. I don’t want this case falling apart because we’ve rushed things. Besides, we might have an identity and we might have a suspect, but what we don’t have is any kind of motive.”

***

Returning to the Ministry by St Mungo’s Floo, Scorpius landed just seconds after Harry to see Proudfoot already talking to him, their backs turned to the fireplace. 

“So no records of her,” he heard Harry say.

Proudfoot shook his head. “They send all the files from their kids to the local authority, but after ten years they’re shredded. The information should have been put on something they call a computer, but the woman working there now couldn’t see any record of a Sally-Ann Perks.”

“What about the lady Madam Sprout spoke to?” Scorpius blurted out. Both men turned, Harry smiling slightly, Proudfoot’s expression unreadable. Scorpius swallowed. “Madam Sprout told us she’d spoken to the care worker. Shouldn’t we find her? Can’t be everyday you have a magic kid in your care, she’s bound to remember her.”

“Can’t when she’s dead, lad!” Proudfoot snapped and turned back to Harry. “Cordelia Jessup died sixteen years ago. Heart attack, they said.”

“Which means,” Harry muttered, “that we have no eye-witness to Sally-Ann Perks arriving back at the care home.”

“Madam Sprout said she’d spoken to her, though,” Scorpius interjected. “And she had the letter.”

Harry smiled slightly. “You took Transfiguration to NEWT level, didn’t you?”

“Er, yeah, I got Exceeds Expectations,” Scorpius replied, wondering where this was going. Then he blinked. “Human Transfiguration!”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “As we have no way of talking to Mrs Jessop, we don’t know if it was really her Pomona spoke to.” He stopped speaking, and then turned back to Proudfoot. “Good work, Jacob. Shame there was nothing conclusive there, but it happens. Now, what about Megan Derwent?”

Proudfoot shrugged. “Not a lot there, either. She can’t remember much about her, but said she’d look through her boxes of photographs, just in case.”

The three of them walked to the meeting room next to Harry’s office - a large blank canvas of a room that housed only a table and chairs. It was here that cases were discussed with the department, evidence laid out, and theories debated. Scorpius’ role had always been to take notes and make coffee, but today Harry invited him to sit with him and Proudfoot.

Quickly briefing Proudfoot on Frogmore’s findings, McLaggen, and the diary Susan Bones had handed over, Harry asked for any ideas, and waited for either of them to answer. 

“What sort of charm could be on the diary?” Scorpius asked.

“Not sure,” Harry replied. “But it must be pretty strong to have lasted all these years.” 

He handed the diary to Proudfoot, who traced the spine with his fingertips and rubbed at a dark spot on the cover. “Teenage girl’s diaries are usually full of adolescent crap,” he said, and dropped the book onto the desk. “My daughter kept one. She laughs about it now.”

“Did your daughter use a charm so strong you couldn’t open it?” Harry asked mildly. Proudfoot shook his head. “That’s the thing. It might just be full of rubbish, but until we open it, we’re not going to know.”

Reaching out his hand, Scorpius touched one corner of the diary. Leather bound, it felt cold, colder than he’d thought it would be, especially as Harry had been carrying it around for the afternoon. He hesitated, then pulled the diary towards him. There was something sparking in his memory, something connected with books and charms and ... no ... it wasn’t a charm.

Taking a breath, he picked up the book and examined it from the back, holding it up to his eye line and sweeping his hands on the cover. “I don’t think this has been Charmed.”

“Why do you say that?” Harry said, with no censure in his voice, only interest.

“It’s cold to the touch, and if you look at it closely it deflects the light.” He held the book up for Harry to see and watched as both he and Proudfoot narrowed their eyes and scrutinised the diary.

“So what are you thinking?” Harry asked.

“It’s cursed,” Scorpius said and chewed the side of his lip. “Which is going to make it harder for us to read...” He trailed off, wondering what suggestions he was allowed to make. Both of them were waiting for him to speak, so, rather than fall back into silence and have Proudfoot dismiss him again, Scorpius took the plunge. “Thing is, if we try to blast the curse without knowing what it is, we risk either being cursed ourselves or destroying the diary.”

“Very good thinking,” Harry murmured. “I think you’re right. Okay, we could call in someone from the Curse-Breakers’ Department, but I think they’re pretty snowed under, so this won’t be their priority. I’d ask my brother-in-law but he’s gone to Egypt to train another batch of Gringotts’ recruits.” He placed the palm of his hand back on the diary, assessing it with his stare. “I could ask Hermione, but this isn’t really her area of expertise. Jacob, what do you think?”

The older man shrugged. “Not something I’ve dealt with much, either. In the old days, we used to have a Curse-Breaker dedicated to the Auror department, but that’s been cut, too.”

Scorpius bit his lip trying not to snort when he saw irritation flash across Harry’s face, then he swallowed. “My granddad, as you know, had an interest in dark objects and magic. Most of his possessions were confiscated by the Ministry, but there were reference books and journals that he kept.”

“Oh, you think you can crack this on the basis of a little bit of reading?” mocked Proudfoot.

Scorpius shook his head. “No, but I’m pretty sure my dad can.” 

 

To the vast majority of the Wizarding world, Draco Malfoy and his son were estranged. There were several theories why this had happened, one being Scorpius’ relationship with Lily Potter, another Scorpius’ job working with Draco’s old enemy, whereas others declared it was Narcissa Malfoy who had disowned her grandson, and Draco was merely following his mother’s orders. 

All reasons were credible. All three reasons were, in fact, true, except for one salient fact: Draco and Scorpius were estranged only as far as the public could see. Whilst his dad wasn’t particularly happy that he was seeing ‘bloody Potter’s daughter’, was incredulous at his son’s decision to be ‘a sodding clerk’ in the Auror department, and did respect his mother’s wish that Scorpius be barred from Malfoy Manor until he’d married ‘well’ - (a pureblood girl, naturally), he hadn’t disowned him. It was a front, a charade for Scorpius’ grandmother, and when they met in private, they got on fine (as long as they kept off contentious subjects like Scorpius’s girlfriend, job and grandmother). But the fact remained that the world thought they weren’t speaking, and that world included not only Proudfoot, but also most of the Potters and the Weasleys. 

So when Draco Malfoy walked into the Auror office, raised his eyebrows and declared he was here to see ‘Potter’, Scorpius wasn’t surprised to be ignored by his dad. He hid a grin and kept his head down, aware the whole time that Proudfoot was watching them both with increasing hostility.

“Is he here, then?” Draco asked impatiently, flicking an invisible speck of dust off his immaculately cut charcoal grey robes. “Only I do have other things I could be doing.”

“He’s out,” Proudfoot snapped and pointed to a chair against the wall. “You can wait there.”

“Will he be long?”

“No idea. I’ll tell him you called if you can’t be bothered to wait.”

Out of the corned of his eye, Scorpius saw his dad’s mouth tighten and knew he was about to leave. He didn’t have to be here. His dad enjoyed the challenge of defusing dark curses, but that alone wouldn’t have brought him to the Auror office the same day the message was sent. The fact that Harry had personally requested his help  _might_  have had something to do with it, because he loved showing off the knowledge he had that Harry lacked, but Scorpius wondered, now, if the main reason his dad was here was because of him.

“Harry won’t be long,” he said, ignoring Proudfoot’s glare. “He’s in with the Minister.”

There was a silence, and then Scorpius heard his dad pull over one of the chairs to sit in front of an empty desk. “Do you have coffee here, or was I supposed to bring my own?”

“Kettle’s in the corner,” Proudfoot grunted. 

“Are you this welcoming to everyone, or am I particularly honoured?” Draco asked. 

“Malfoy, make Daddy a coffee!” Proudfoot ordered. Then, scraping his own chair back, he stomped out of the office, banging shut the filing cabinet on his way out. 

“Lovely man,” Draco muttered. Then he pulled his chair closer to Scorpius’ desk. “So, you discovered a body, did you? Any chance you’ll get a promotion, or is Potter still using you as his errand boy?”

“I’m assisting,” Scorpius said stiffly, affronted by the mockery in his dad’s words. He glanced up from the report he was correcting; his dad was watching him with a curious expression. “Harry’s said I can help him. He was impressed with how I handled the crime scene and ...” giving a half smile, he unbent a little “... I’m enjoying it, Dad. I’m giving opinions, listening in on interviews, and I’m not just filing or fetching biscuits.”

Something flickered in Draco’s face. “It said in  _The Prophet_  that the body was found at Hogwarts. What were you doing there?”

“Hogsmeade weekend, I was walking Lily back,” Scorpius replied bluntly.

“Still going strong then? I thought you’d have tired of your little schoolgirl now you’ve left Hogwarts.”

“That’s rich coming from you!” Scorpius snapped. “At least I haven’t got her pregnant and forced her to leave.”

A furious expression crossed his dad’s face, and instantly Scorpius knew he’d gone too far. As Draco got abruptly to his feet, his eyes darkening and his mouth thinning, Scorpius tried to splutter an apology, but his dad was heading for the door.

At that moment, Harry walked back into the room, his face buried in  _The Prophet_. “Malfoy, thank you for coming,” he said, briskly assessing the situation. “Take a seat in my office. Scorpius, bring us some coffee and biscuits, please.”

“Been promoted to making coffee as well as biscuit-fetching, I see,” Draco sneered, but instead of leaving, he stalked into Harry’s office. 

Scorpius clattered the mugs together, not caring that he slopped the contents of the kettle onto the floor, gritting his teeth as he tried to erase his dad’s smug expression from his mind. “Sodding, patronising bastard!” he muttered to himself, chucking the biscuits higgledy-piggledy on the plate. Then, holding the tray in front of him, he stood up straight and headed for Harry’s office. 

His dad stopped speaking when he walked in. Levitating the diary in the air, he literally closed his mouth when Scorpius entered and waited for him to place the tray on the table.

“You didn’t make yourself one,” Harry said, adding mildly, “Malfoy, I’m sure you don’t mind Scorpius being here while you expound your knowledge, do you? I’ve found your son to be very insightful these past few days.”

Draco ignored him, but didn’t walk out. Instead, he concentrated again on the diary. “Okay, the first curse on this is fairly simple. I can open this for you easily.”

“Good.”

“However, I don’t know what’s inside, so you might want to hide behind each other or something.”

“A Shield Charm will be adequate, I’m sure,” Harry said steadily. “But if  _you’re_  not hiding, Malfoy, I’m sure we’ll be safe.”

Draco raised one eyebrow, then licking his lips, he slowly pulled out his wand and started to murmur a soft incantation. From memory, Scorpius remembered the trick with Dark Curses, speak quietly, intensely and with total focus. Blasting away might work quickly but in all likelihood, the artefact under the protection of the curse would disintegrate and the hex backfire. 

Slowly, the diary vibrated and a green vapour diffused into the air. Scorpius flinched back, but noticing his dad peering even closer, he resisted the urge to step away. Then, as Draco finished speaking, the diary landed with a thump on Harry’s desk and opened up.

“That looked easy enough,” Harry muttered. He peered over the book, examining the blank pages. 

“Don’t touch it,” Draco rapped. “I have no idea what else is contained within the pages.” 

“She was a sixteen year old girl and not one who was particularly adept at magic, from what we’ve heard,” Harry retorted. “Besides, I’ve seen a diary like this before.”

Then, before Draco could stop him, Harry grabbed a quill and set it on the page. 

“Don’t!” Draco shouted. 

But it was too late. A blue flame shot out of the pages, and up the quill to Harry’s fingers.

“Hell!” He dropped the quill, which started to burn merrily on his desk, and quickly cast an Aguamenti Spell onto his fingers. The flames doused quickly, only a small hiss emitting. 

“Idiot!” Draco spat. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” Harry muttered.

“I don’t give a toss about you,” retorted Draco. “I said not to bloody touch it; you could have destroyed evidence amongst other things.” Still frowning, Draco cast a charm over the book, encasing it in what looked like a bubble. “It’s protected, Potter, and if you want to know why, then you’re going to have to let me deal with it.” He glanced at Scorpius. “You all right?”

“Mmm, fine,” Scorpius muttered. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at the almost-concern in his dad’s eyes, but somehow he was and his cheeks reddened.

“Can you tell us anything about the diary now?” Harry asked. He’d rapidly regained control of himself, and although he wasn’t as close to the diary, he hadn’t backed off.

Muttering again, Draco waved his wand in slow concentric circles, then paused. “Watch that first page, Potter. It might just reveal something.”

Scorpius held his breath as he peered over Harry’s shoulder. Something flickered on the page, a grey outline, emerging from the ivory parchment. As they all watched, the outline darkened. Draco smirked. 

“A romantic girl. That looks like a heart. And a date ...” He screwed up his eyes. “Nineteen ninety-six.”

“There are some initials,” Scorpius said excitedly. “Look ... ‘S-A, P’ on that arrow tip, and C. Mc. On the feather. That’s -”

“Not here,” Harry rapped.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Potter,” drawled Draco. “If I’m going to decipher this bloody thing for you, I’m going to work out who it was the girl was screwing. I don’t remember anyone with those initials, though. What was that Irish twat in your year called? Sean? Is that the SAP?”

“No,” Harry replied brusquely, then he relented. “Look, I don’t want  _The Prophet_  getting hold of this yet, but we believe the victim is a girl from our year. She was in Hufflepuff. Sally-Ann Perks.”

Draco shook his head. “Don’t remember her. Who was the lucky bloke that was getting his end away? C ... Mc ... hmm.” Then he started to laugh. “It’s that prat from your house, isn’t it? The one who was a worse Keeper than Weasley! Caramac ... or something.”

“Cormac McLaggen,” Harry said. “Yes, he’s told us they went out together. What I need to know is whether anything else was going on. Will you help the department, Malfoy?”

For a moment, Scorpius thought his dad was about to refuse. He’d made his point, after all, and it must have been satisfying knowing that Harry needed his expertise. But then Draco shrugged. “Why not? It’ll make a change from discussing wallpaper swatches with my wife.” 

After agreeing on terms with Harry and encasing the diary in a sealed pouch, Draco left the office. He murmured a vague goodbye, which Scorpius assumed was for him, but said no more. It was only when Scorpius returned to his desk that he saw a note peeking from beneath his dirty coffee cup.

_‘Your mum wants to see you. We’re at the London flat. Come over this Saturday, unless you’re too busy with the Potter girl.  
Dad.’_

He tucked the note into his pocket, smiling to himself, and was about to ask Harry if he’d be required this weekend, when a woman burst into the room.

She was tall, wearing Muggle clothes of tight jeans, leather boots and a leather coat jacked in at the waist. Despite the fact that it was autumn, she had a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head. “Where’s Potter?” she demanded.

“Er ... I can check he’s free,” Scorpius replied.

The woman ran a well-manicured hand through perfect chestnut hair, and scowled at him. “He bloody better be free. Someone’s just tried to kill me, and I’m holding him responsible!”

“Okay,” Scorpius stepped closer, and Summoned a chair for her. “Can I take a name Miss ... er ...”

“Mara Stone. Or as he’s no doubt told the bloody world, Tamara Flint. Now bring him here ... NOW!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahahahahha - sorry, I can't stop this evil cackle. Hope you're enjoying the story. Please leave me your thoughts. They cost nothing except a few droplets of your time. :D


	7. Identification

As soon as he heard the noise, Harry appeared from his office and quickly ushered Tamara Flint inside. Allowing Scorpius to come in, he purposely shut the door, casting a Muffling Charm around the room, before he addressed her. 

“Miss Stone, how can I help you?”

“You can stop whoever’s trying to murder me from bloody succeeding, for one thing!” she yelled. 

“Murder?”

“Yes, murder! I’ve been living in the Muggle world for eighteen years now and the worst thing that’s happened to me is a broken fingernail. This week I had a fruit pie delivered,” she inhaled deeply, letting her chest rise and fall dramatically, “and then this morning when I was making a cup of tea, I spilt the milk and it burnt a hole through my kitchen counter.”

“Miss Stone,” Harry replied. “You’re quite a name in the Muggle world. It’s far more likely that this is the act of a deranged fan, or a jealous rival. Perhaps you should contact the police.”

“A pie doesn’t sound exactly harmful,” Scorpius murmured to Harry.

She shot Scorpius a look. A look that flashed daggers at him and her voice rose. “The pie contained Dirigible plums, and Muggles cannot get near my house, let alone to the kitchen to spike a carton of milk. So don’t you  _dare_  tell me this isn’t anything to do with your world! Until you turned up, I was perfectly safe and happy and now -” 

Harry held up his hand, although Scorpius was pretty sure he was itching to cast a Silencio instead. “Then I will do whatever I can to help,” he replied calmly. “Will you let us examine your house?”

“I’m not going back there, and you are not leaving me, Potter!” she said, sounding peevish rather than scared. 

“Of course not,” Harry said, and made eye contact with Scorpius. “Will you let my assistant go, instead? All I need is the fruit pie or the milk.”

Sniffing dubiously, she perused Scorpius slowly, before nodding. “I threw the pie away, but I came straight here, so the milk carton will still be out.”

“And are there any wards around your house?” Harry asked.

“None,” she said and broke out into wracking sobs. “I never intended to come back to this world, but now it appears thanks to you, I’ll have to.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at her, and then beckoned to Scorpius, saying in a low voice, “I can’t make up my mind whether she’s delusional or serious, but this does seem to be an appalling coincidence given that I visited her only a few days ago. Get over to her house, pick up the carton, and have a small snoop around.”

“What am I looking for?”

“Signs, either Magical or Muggle, that there was actually an intruder.”

 

He Apparated directly to the house, landing with precision in her hallway. Tamara had told him she’d left the milk on the counter, fleeing her house at once to find Harry, but he surveyed his location first before going to the kitchen. As Mara Stone, it was obvious she made a lot of money. The walls were hung with paintings, the carpet plush and new. On a coat stand in the corner, he spied a fur coat and three leather handbags, all the same style but in different colours. Slowly, he pushed open the door to the kitchen, and as a precaution held his wand aloft. “ _Homenum Revelio_ ”, he whispered, but no one was there. 

And there was no carton of milk, either, nor any sign of a damaged worktop. From Tamara’s description, he’d expected to see a gaping a fizzing mass through the marble topped counter, the result of a potion that would have scalded her insides, leaving her dead in a matter of excruciatingly painful minutes. 

Or so she’d implied.

But there was nothing there. He frowned and gripped his wand tighter, suddenly worried that this was a trap ... but who the hell would want to trap him? He shook his head, chastising himself for being such an idiot. Mara Stone was attention-seeking for some reason. There was nothing here to see. 

But as he turned away, intent on Apparating straight back to the Ministry, the reflection of the sun on the sink caught his eye. He blinked at the brightness ... and then stopped moving. The light from the window had highlighted a small blemish on the draining board. He peered closer, his eyes widening when he saw that the blemish was in fact a small hole. Very carefully, Scorpius waved his wand over the hole, watching for any signs of magic. There was nothing there, but his curiosity had peaked, and with determination, he crossed the room to have another look at the counter top. There was no mark, yet Scorpius waved his wand across the surface and watched for any vestiges of magic to appear. He didn’t have to wait long, and although it was faint, a grey mist wisped up from the marble.

He scoured the rest of the kitchen, searching through the cupboards and the bin, but one thing was sure: the milk carton had gone. Now wary, Scorpius checked the windows (all locked) and the doors. Nothing was out of place. No one had broken in, in the conventional sense. But someone had been there. He shivered, realising that as the milk was not where Tamara had said it would be, the perpetrator had either returned, or had hidden in the house, and then repaired the damage to the counter top when Tamara had fled. 

Tamara was still at the Ministry when Scorpius returned, although Harry had persuaded her to leave the department, accompanied by Patricia Belby, an Auror whose very demeanour exuded calm. So taking advantage of the empty office (he didn’t bother asking about Proudfoot), Scorpius quickly briefed Harry on what he’d found.

“There were no other signs?” Harry said. He sat forwards in his chair, jotting down notes as he fired questions at Scorpius.

“Magic had definitely been used,” Scorpius retorted. “I’m not mistaken.”

“I’m not saying you were,” Harry soothed, putting down his quill. “I wanted to make sure that there was nothing there to identify whoever broke in.”

Shaking his head, Scorpius proceeded to explain the thorough search he’d made of the house, how he’d checked every room using magic then used the evidence of his own eyes as he tried to find some signs of the intruder. 

“Too clean for a Muggle,” Harry muttered, more to himself than Scorpius. “Damn!”

“What’s the problem?” Scorpius asked.

“This will come down on us. Outside of this department, only Jonah and Karis Flint knew Tamara was his daughter. And they’re not going to tell, so-”

“Uh, not quite true,” Scorpius interrupted. “Karis told Professor Zabini all about it.”

Harry looked at him, curiosity flaring in his eyes. “How do you know that?”

“Lavender overheard and questioned me,” he replied, and laughed at the concern on Harry’s face. “Don’t worry, she knew more than me and won’t print anything. Said something about respecting Tamara’s privacy.”

“Mmm, I think we can trust Lavender. Okay, dig me out a list of safe houses, and then-”

“I’m not going into hiding!” Tamara marched into the department, Patricia Belby, with an unusually harassed look on her face, trailing after her. “I want this person caught, so I can move back into  _my_  house. I’m supposed to be at the recording studio tomorrow, and I have an interview on breakfast television the day after.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a slim black rectangular object and started tapping it with her fingers. Then in sudden exasperation, she threw it across the room. “God, I can’t even call my agent from this bloody building! Stupid magic. Stupid bloody world. Why the hell am I being dragged back to this crap!”

“Miss Flint,” Harry said clearly. “Scorpius has visited your house and believes there was an intruder who used magic. This person came back, after you’d left, to clear up. In view of this fact, I caution you not to return until we have investigated further.”

Halfway through this speech, Scorpius became aware that Tamara Flint had stopped listening to Harry and was now staring at him. Feeling uneasy under her searching gaze, he nonetheless met her eyes and didn’t look away.

“Scorpius Malfoy?” she asked. He nodded. “Oh my word, I remember your mum.” Looking Scorpius up and down she burst into laughter. “I take it you’re her reason for ducking out of OWLs.”

“Yeah, could say that,” Scorpius mumbled. He flushed again, not with embarrassment but annoyance that everyone seemed to be remarking on this as soon as they met him. He supposed it made a difference from only associating him with his dad, but it was still as grating.

“Are they still married?” Tamara asked. She looked surprised when Scorpius said they were but then smiled. “No one thought it would last, though then again everyone assumed I’d crawl back to the Flint house after a week.”

“Perhaps you could go there,” Scorpius suggested, feeling bold now she’d established a connection with him. 

“No.” Harry’s objection was short and decisive, made before Tamara had a chance to shake her head. 

The silence that followed was telling, the colour to drained from Tamara’s face. She started to sway, clutching onto the side of the desk before Patricia helped her into a chair.

“Someone is trying to kill me,” she whispered. “I’ve been so annoyed at the inconvenience, it didn’t quite sink in.”

“It certainly looks that way and I can only think it has to do with the Flint inheritance.”

“Jonah never had another child,” she said, her voice cracking when she talked of her father. “I thought he’d have had some with Karis - she wasn’t that old when they married - or maybe married again.”

“You are his sole heir, Tamara,” Harry replied solemnly.

“Oh, Christ, I don’t want to be,” she wept. 

Summoning a box of tissues, Patricia offered her one and crouched beside her, a motherly arm across her shoulders. “I could take Miss Flint back with me, Harry,” she suggested, her soft voice soothing the tempest. “The wards round my house are as strong as any safe house. And ... well, I’m not assigned to a case at the moment, so until something comes up, I could guard her - in the Muggle world, too.”

They all waited while Harry deliberated. If Pat took this on, then they were a person down in the department, and this must have been Harry’s main consideration. Putting Tamara in the care of a Hit witch or wizard would ease the strain, but at the same time, Harry would lose command. Scorpius saw Harry’s eyes flick to his, and then he turned back to the Auror.

“Okay, Pat, if you’re willing to see this through, then I’ll authorise it. Miss Flint, you can carry on as usual, but my Auror will have to accompany you everywhere.”

“Thank you,” Tamara whispered. She clutched Patricia’s hand, giving her a watery smile. And then she sniffed and got to her feet. “I’d like to go home and fetch some clothes now. I’ll need shoes, as well. And I must see my hairdresser today.”

They watched them go, Scorpius snorting and trying to disguise it as a coughing fit.

“Problem?” Harry asked.

“Uh, no, sorry,” Scorpius spluttered. Then he realised Harry was grinning at him. “She recovered pretty quickly, that’s all.”

“Every inch a Flint,” Harry replied, and cleared his throat. “Right, back to the case. I’ve sent an owl to the Spanish Ministry asking if they have knowledge of Sally-Ann. If she stayed there for any length of time, they should know. But to be perfectly honest, that’s just me covering each angle. I am even more convinced that the body you discovered is Sally-Ann Perks, so now ...” He paused and then his voice became a lot less animated and more serious. “Scorpius, I need you to set up one of the interrogation rooms. Use a Dictation Quill and fresh parchment.”

Scorpius nodded, and started to rifle through the stationary cupboard. The Dictation Quills were standard procedure when interviewing a suspect. Unlike Quick Quotes used by journalists and lazy speechwriters, these quills would only write what was actually said in the confines of the room and could not be tampered with. 

“Anything else?” he asked, noticing Harry had Summoned his cloak.

“Come back here as quickly as possible,” Harry replied. “We’re going to bring in McLaggen.”

***

There was something about Cormac McLaggen that made Scorpius want to punch him. He didn’t know if it was the way he sat in the chair, left ankle crossed over right knee and hands behind his head, or the way he surveyed the windowless interrogation room, and in particular Scorpius, with a faint air of derision. Or maybe it was the fact that he sounded so bored when Harry was questioning him. 

“What is this about, Potter?” he drawled. “I have told you all I remember. I had a bit of a mess around with the girl in my sixth year, dumped her, she got annoyed and hexed me.”

“Did anyone see this hex?”

“Huh?” McLaggen’s eyes flickered slightly, then he shook his head. “I was letting her down gently. You don’t think I’d do that in public, do you?”

“And you have no idea where she went after that?” Harry asked. McLaggen didn’t bother speaking but yawned instead. “Did you see her get off the train?”

“Can’t remember. Look, is this absolutely necessary? I have told you everything I remember, and this is now getting very boring. I’ve been here for an hour. Your coffee is foul, this chair uncomfortable, and I really do have to be getting back to work.” He got to his feet, stretching out and failing to stifle another yawn.

“Sit down!”

Harry’s command made Scorpius jump, even though he had known it was coming. Jolted out of his bluster, McLaggen sat back on the chair. He tried to assume his previous nonchalant posture, but there was something stiff and wary now in his expression.

“We have a problem with your recount, McLaggen,” Harry began. “It’s something that Scorpius, here, pointed out to me when we first started thinking that our victim could be Sally-Ann Perks." 

“And what’s that?” McLaggen asked, some of his swagger returning as he eyed Scorpius with disdain.

Clearing his throat, Scorpius leant across the desk in what he hoped was an intimidating manner, then thinking it was a little too much, he pulled back slightly. “You’re the only person who saw her on the train. Convenient, isn’t it?” 

And now, McLaggen’s eyes widened. “No, that can’t be true. She would have been sitting with friends.”

“They stayed at Hogwarts. It was OWL year, McLaggen; Sally-Ann was the only one not staying to revise...” Harry paused, seemingly examining a mark on the table. “Or so everyone thought at the time. It has now become clear that she never got on the train because she never even left Hogwarts. Bit difficult when you’ve been bashed on the head and buried in the Forbidden Forest.”

“I. Saw. Her.” He was adamant, and now the arrogance had gone. “You have to believe me ... Harry.”

“I believe evidence, McLaggen,” Harry replied, his voice neutral. 

It was his anger, his utter fury that surprised Scorpius. Cormac McLaggen, from being bored and then wary, had suddenly flashed to rage. He stood up, pounded his fist on the table, causing it to rattle and shot daggers from his eyes at the pair of them.

“Then you need to find some! All you have is the fact that I went out with a girl when at Hogwarts. Don’t know about you, Potter, but I did that quite a lot. That doesn’t make me a murderer, no matter how fucking prudish and moral you are!”

“Quite a temper you’ve got," Harry said smoothly, not the slightest bit perturbed. “But that’s a good suggestion. Scorpius, go back to the office and find the search warrant forms. I might as well authorise this now, that way Mr McLaggen can get this over and done with.”

“You’re going to search my flat?” McLaggen exclaimed. “You have no right, Potter!”

“Or we could call by  _The Prophet_  first,” Harry said, blithely ignoring McLaggen’s rantings. “James would love the story.”

“No.” McLaggen’s voice was dull. He sat back in his chair, slumping his shoulders. “Go to my flat. I’ll even dismantle the wards for you ... just don’t say anything to the paper.”

Scorpius saw the gleam in Harry’s eye and smiled to himself. The evidence they had against McLaggen was flimsy at best, and getting a search warrant when they had no positive identification of the girl would have been problematical. But now McLaggen had agreed to the search, they didn’t need to complete the preliminary paperwork, or request Minister Shacklebolt’s permission.

Leaving McLaggen in the interview room (Scorpius promised him more coffee and received a glower), Harry was instructing Scorpius on the correct procedure for conducting a search, when a thundering of feet along the narrow corridor abruptly stopped the conversation. 

It was Proudfoot, his face puce, his body sweating and out of breath. “Harry, quick, you’ve got to get to St. Mungo’s.” He gulped at the air. 

“What’s the problem? Is it Ginny, or one of the kids?”

Shaking his head furiously, Proudfoot took another breath. “It’s Pat. She’s been hexed.”

“What the hell-” Harry stepped right up to Proudfoot, who was still trying to get his breathing under control, his exhalations wheezing from his throat. “What’s happened? Is she badly hurt?”

“She was with the Flint woman,” Proudfoot explained. “They were outside a Muggle hairdressers, or something. Details are sketchy, but someone started firing at them both. Pat pulled out her wand, cast a Shield Charm around Ms Flint,” he almost spat the name, “but in doing so caught a hex to the head.”

Harry glanced from Proudfoot to the holding cell. McLaggen could not be held indefinitely, Scorpius knew that, but Harry had a duty of care to his Aurors, and to the living. Scorpius watched as the decision formed in front of him. “I’m going to the hospital, and I’ll sort out a safe house for Tamara Flint. While I’m gone, Jacob, McLaggen’s lowered the wards on his flat. Take Scorpius with you, and conduct a search. I’ll meet you back here when I can.”

Although Scorpius was sure Proudfoot would rather the ghost of Lord Voldemort was accompanying him to McLaggen’s flat, not by a twitch of his lips did he betray his feelings. He nodded to Harry, told Scorpius to fetch the camera, and waited in the corridor for him to return. With his breathing under control, he sounded much more like his normal self, but the pallor of his skin betrayed him.

As he approached him, Scorpius realised he didn’t know Pat Belby very well. She was probably in her thirties, possibly the same age as his mum, and kept herself very much to herself. She hadn’t asked him to transcribe her notes, and often did her own filing, yet when he made her coffee she’d thank him politely and give him a brief smile before getting back to work. Her outward appearance - slightly plump build, light brown carefully curled hair, and kind face seemed at odds with her chosen profession, and yet Scorpius had seen her bring in a suspect and wrap up a case almost before she’d been handed it. He might not know her, but if she’d been badly harmed, the department would miss her.

“Is Pat going to be all right?” he asked Proudfoot. 

“You hoping for her job?” Proudfoot retorted. 

“No!” Scorpius said, appalled. “I like Pat. She’s been kind to me.”

Wiping one hand over his face, Proudfoot grunted something that might have been an apology. When he spoke again, his tone was more conciliatory. Presenting Scorpius with a slip of paper showing McLaggen’s address, he bade him to Apparate directly to the living room. “I’ll go first, just in case he’s not disarmed the wards. If I’m not back straight away, lad, then join me.”

Scorpius checked the address, then after watching Proudfoot turn and not  _return_ , he focused on the address (which seemed oddly familiar) and began his spin. 

When he landed, he realised why the address was familiar. It was a large flat, airy, and with great views over the River Thames. Ginny, he remembered, had called it ‘swanky ‘, and although he could tell by the decor that this was not Zach Smith’s flat, it had the same aspect. As he stared out of the window, he deduced he was higher up than before, but not by much. Cormac McLaggen lived in the flat above Zach Smith, which probably explained his appearance at the party. The England manager’s sexuality was not a secret, and for someone as bullishly heterosexual as McLaggen, Scorpius couldn’t see either being comfortable in each other’s company.

“What are you waiting for? Evidence doesn’t just appear with a wave of your wand, Malfoy.”

“Sorry,” muttered Scorpius, “it’s just that I’ve been here... er, well not here exactly, but the flat below.”

Proudfoot shrugged. “It’s a popular apartment block - for those with money.”

They worked together in silence, only speaking when Proudfoot needed a photograph taken, or something documented. He was a methodical man, starting with the living room, peering into drawers and cupboards and being careful to return everything to its proper place. Moving to the bedroom, Scorpius stared around, taking in the thick red shag-pile carpet, and large unmade bed. Only one pillow showed an indent, but he still snapped a shot, before walking over and feeling under the mattress. 

“Anything?” Proudfoot asked.

“Nothing incriminating,” Scorpius replied. He picked up a magazine from the bedside cabinet - _Quidditch Monthly_. There was nothing unusual about that, he had a subscription himself, but this was an old copy from June, and as the rest of the apartment seemed bereft of magazines and books, he wondered why McLaggen had left it. Idly, he flipped through then grinned. There was a feature on past and present female players, some pictured in sultry poses, which obviously appealed to McLaggen more than the cover story detailing the career of Smith, who at the time was being touted for the England position. 

“Stop gawping at scantily clad lasses, and get your arse over here, Malfoy,” ordered Proudfoot. He was smiling, his eyes alight with interest as he heaved out a large dusty trunk from the bottom of one of the wardrobes. “Let’s see what he’s kept from Hogwarts, shall we?”

“Uh, shouldn’t I take a picture before you open it?” Scorpius objected. He winced as he saw Proudfoot wiping the dust off his hands and down his robes. 

“This trunk hasn’t been touched in years.” Non-verbally, he cast a spell; the lid sprang open in a cloud of dust, and through the camera lens, Scorpius saw the trunk was packed with yellowing newspapers, an old textbook or two and a large photo-album. As Proudfoot rummaged through the trunk, Scorpius turned the pages of it, scanning the photographs in case anything interesting turned up. But the pictures were mainly of a young Cormac and his friends. There were a few of girls, but nothing intimate. The girls in the photographs didn’t even seem to be aware, until too late, that they’d been snapped. He’d have called McLaggen a Peeping Tom, but the shots weren’t candid, just ... unposed. Towards the end, he stopped page turning, his eyes focusing on one picture: a pretty girl with long, dark hair, and a wide laughing smile. Unlike the other photographs, this girl knew the camera was on her, and unlike the other pictures, this girl had a name.

_‘Sally-Ann Perks.’_

“We have a photograph!” Scorpius exclaimed in excitement, but before he could pull it out, Proudfoot had started to laugh exultantly.

“What do we have here?”

“Huh?”

Proudfoot smiled, his grin encompassing half of his face, his eyes relishing his delight. “It’s a wand, Malfoy, and given the fact that it’s short, I’m willing to bet a month’s wages that it’s not, and never has been, McLaggen’s.”

Taking more photographs, Scorpius focused in on the wand and where it had been in the trunk. There was something niggling at him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Why would he keep it?” he asked, puzzled.

“Think about it, lad. If McLaggen had chucked this out at the time, there’s a strong chance it would have been found, and then everyone would have been looking for the Perks girl.”

Carefully sealing the wand in a Charmed casing, Proudfoot gave the trunk another cursory glance, then stood up straight. He took the photograph of the girl from Scorpius and wrapped that, too, then, telling him to finish up, he Apparated back to the Ministry.

Although he felt mildly annoyed, Scorpius didn’t complain. Whatever he thought about Proudfoot, he was the one with the experience, whereas he was the apprentice. And at least he had this scene to himself, and there was no knowing what else he might uncover. Raising the camera, he took more photographs, opening up both wardrobes, peeking through the serried ranks of robes and shirts and shoes. 

It was the shoes that caught his attention. Hand stitched leather, he thought, and so highly polished, he wondered if they’d ever been worn. He turned them over; the soles showed signs of wear, which meant he must have been particular about taking care of them. McLaggen wasn’t a scruffy man, but remembering his casual attire at the party, Scorpius wondered why he’d be this finicky about his footwear. Then he shrugged. A pair of expensive shoes had nothing to do with the case, and he was here to find more evidence. 

“Anything else?” Proudfoot asked him when he returned to the department.

“Nothing relevant,” Scorpius replied. “I’ll get the films to the processor, and ask them to put a rush on developing them.”

“Good idea...” Proudfoot sounded vague; he was reading a note that had obviously just arrived, because the owl was perched on the window-ledge pecking at a nut. “Brilliant.”

“What’s brilliant?” 

“Felix had word back from his Squib dentist contact.” He paused, clearly relishing his moment. “It  _is_  Sally-Ann Perks, the dental records match. And now, back to McLaggen! I’d love to see him squirm his way out of this, now we have the wand and that photograph you found.”

“Er ... shouldn’t we wait for Harry?” Scorpius asked. Ignoring the irritation in Proudfoot’s face, he ploughed on, “And we don’t have a verification on that wand yet. It might not be hers.”

Dropping Felix’s note onto the desk, Proudfoot, with slow deliberation folded his arms across his chest. “I am a senior Auror, Malfoy, and don’t need to be told procedure from a clerk. And I don’t need Harry holding my hand every step of the way. So if I want to charge McLaggen, then I will.” He half smiled, perhaps thinking it would lessen the tension, but Scorpius merely glowered back. 

“We don’t know this is her wand,” he repeated, his lips tight. 

“Which is why I was about to tell you to get your arse round to Ollivander's. If she bought it from him, then he’ll remember. Not even a spell in the Malfoy dungeon could damage his mind, got that!”

Scorpius wanted to shout, to rail at the man for giving him a hard time for something that was long past, and that he had never had any part in. But he’d been facing this prejudice for years, and the people that couldn’t look past his name or face often had reasons that he couldn’t dispute. Instead of arguing, he picked up the wand and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

 

He hadn’t been to Ollivander's for years; his only visit hadn’t been a pleasant one, for although he’d gone in with his mum, the old man behind the counter had physically flinched at the sight of him. But he’d made him a wand, seemingly delighted when he crafted a cherry and dragon heartstring wand for Scorpius. 

‘A boy who knows his own mind,” he’d murmured. “This wand will serve you well, Master Malfoy.”

The shop was smaller than in his memory, but retained the aura of a revered place. Pushing the door open, Scorpius was immediately assailed by the smell of wood, wand wax and an apple-scented fire. 

“Can I help you?”

He looked across to the counter to see a fair-haired witch, probably in her early thirties, speaking to him as she held up individual strands of unicorn hair to the lamplight. 

“I was looking for Mr Ollivander.” He hesitated. “Garrick Ollivander, that is.”

“My grandfather’s upstairs. Is there a particular reason you need him? I can craft wands, or repair if necessary.”

She spoke with a quiet authority, something she must have inherited from her grandfather, but she smiled as well, and Scorpius felt at ease.

“I need an identification of a wand,” he murmured. “I work for the Auror department and it’s connected to a case. We think the wand was made in your grandfather’s time.”

She quirked a smile. “It still is his time. I’ll fetch him. Who shall I say is calling?”

“I’m from the Auror department.”

“Yes, you said,” she replied. “But I would like to know your name.”

He couldn’t prevaricate any longer. “Scorpius Malfoy.”

The smile left her face being replaced with a look of deepest displeasure. “I will let him know, but if he refuses, then you leave and don’t come back.”

He nodded, there wasn’t much else he could do, and with stark realisation knew just why Proudfoot had sent him there. He was to face the old man’s intransigence ... and fail. 

She was gone a matter of minutes, and when he saw her again, the expression of distrust had gone to be replaced by bemusement. 

“He says you can go up. Don’t tire him, though.”

Scuffing up the narrow stairs, his shoes catching in the threadbare carpet, Scorpius was aware the witch was standing watching his progress. Ahead, he could see a small room, the door ajar and faint lamplight glimmering out at him. 

“Mr Ollivander,” he called hesitantly.

“Come in, Mr Malfoy,” rasped the voice, to be succeeded by a bout of coughing. 

He pushed the door wider. Ollivander was sitting in a chair by the fire. In his hand was a poker, and as he stoked the coals, the flames flared, illuminating his weathered cheeks and the deep dry wrinkles delineating his face. On a small table lay a copy of  _The Prophet,_  turned to the inner pages, where the story of the body found at Hogwarts showed no signs of abating. His gnarled hand replaced the poker, and gestured for Scorpius to come closer.

“You have a wand you wish me to examine, Gaia said.”

Sitting in the armchair opposite Ollivander, Scorpius handed over the recovered wand carefully dismantling the Sealing Charm encasing it. He watched the old man’s face, seeing the intelligence and interest flare in his eyes as his fingers caressed the light brown wood.

“Seven and three-quarter inches. Pine, and with a unicorn hair core. I remember this very well. Miss Perks was an intriguing girl -"

 

“It’s definitely Sally-Ann Perks wand?” Scorpius interrupted.

Ollivander raised one eyebrow, his look suggesting scorn. Ignoring the question, he continued, “You should return this to her, Mr Malfoy. Pine wands work at their very best for their owners, and she will be missing her talisman.”

“Talisman?”

“It is said,” Ollivander explained, running one fingertip over the wand, “that pine wands are able to detect longevity in their owners. They should have a long and prosperous life together. It could also be said this wand is the closest thing Miss Perks has to a friend. She is a loner, and parting her from this fine specimen is a calumny.”

“She’s dead,” Scorpius replied bluntly, and waved his hand towards the newspaper. “It’s her body we recovered from Hogwarts.”

Ollivander’s mouth gaped open, the grey skin of his face suddenly effusing in colour. “That cannot be ...” he gasped, then after swallowing his voice became stronger. “Mr Malfoy, I have never known an owner of a pine wand to die young.” 

“It’s definitely her, sir.”

“Then she did not die by magic. It is impossible, for the wand has such powerful loyalty and protective qualities, she would have survived an attack.”

Stretching out his hand, Scorpius retrieved the wand from the old man’s reluctant grip. “Thank you for your time, Mr Ollivander. Your authentication and insight have been very useful.”

“You are enjoying the Auror Department, Scorpius,” Ollivander stated, and smiled when Scorpius nodded. “It has its ups and downs, I can see, but you always knew your own mind, that much I remember. Your mother’s child ... to the core.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sub plot emerging . . . Hope you're still enjoying this, as it's still got a way to go. :)


	8. Undercover

Harry was heading into the Ministry when Scorpius caught up with him. He looked worried, a frown creasing his brow as he stormed towards the lifts, but he listened intently as Scorpius informed him about the search, and his conversation with Ollivander. But although his frown deepened when Scorpius told him that Proudfoot had charged McLaggen, he said nothing, merely tapping the wall of the lift impatiently with his fingers. 

“How’s Pat?” Scorpius asked when he’d finished his story. 

“Unconscious, but they think she’ll pull through with no permanent damage,” Harry replied. The doors opened and he stepped out. 

“What about ...” Scorpius stopped talking and glanced back over his shoulder. Seeing the corridor was deserted he carried on, “Tamara Flint?”

“Safe.” He said no more until they were safely ensconced in his office where he closed the door and then cast a Muffling Charm. “Fortunately she wasn’t harmed, but she didn’t see anything. She’s still at St Mungo’s holed up with Felix.”

“She’s in the mortuary?”

Harry smiled slightly. “Well, she’s in his back room, drinking tea and quizzing him about dead bodies, which makes me think she’s a lot tougher than she looks. However, I can’t leave her there, so I want you to run through the list of safe houses, whilst I arrange guards.” He chewed on the side of his mouth, muttering something about ‘bloody paperwork’, whilst Scorpius went out to locate the file containing safe house addresses.

He scanned through them, discounting the first three because they were in use, the fourth because it should have been taken off the list when it was damaged, before pondering over the fifth and sixth.

“Anything for me?” Harry shouted.

“Possibly!” Getting to his feet, he ran back to the office and laid the list on Harry’s desk. “That one in Cornwall was damaged in last year’s floods, the last two are possible, but ...”

“But what? We need somewhere, so what’s the problem?” Harry snapped, clearly getting irate at Scorpius’ hesitation.

“Okay, well, this one is in a Muggle area, and usually it would be ideal, but as she’s also Mara Flint ...”

“And well known to Muggles,” Harry nodded impatiently, “What about the other?”

“Uh, it’s in a remote part of Scotland. She’ll be bored senseless and won’t have anyone to do her hair.” 

Harry let out a groan and slumped back in his chair. “More seriously, Tamara hasn’t performed magic for years, and somewhere that remote leaves her exposed. She’d need two guards, at least.”

“Harry, you got my message, then?” Both looked up to see Proudfoot standing in the doorway, his eyes shifted to Scorpius. “I told you to come straight back with that authentication. Is it her wand? I want to charge the bugger, or else we’ll have to let him go.”

“Jacob, I told Scorpius to come with me. The wand did belong to Sally-Ann, and I’ll be with you shortly to question McLaggen. Meanwhile, do we have anything approaching a motive?”

Proudfoot shrugged. “Lover’s tiff? He has a temper, you said that yourself. He’s already said he was hacked off with the girl for hanging around him. They had a fight, he hexed her, she died.”

“McLaggen was a flash git at school,” Harry replied. “Arrogant and thought he knew best, but ...” He paused and chewed his lip. “He was always chatting up girls; one more hanging around him wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Uh...” Scorpius raised his hand. “Something else Ollivander said was that he reckoned that she couldn’t have died by magic. He says her wand’s pine and that’s supposed to be very protective. He wouldn’t believe it when I said she was dead.”

“Fits with Felix’s report,” Harry muttered. Then he took a breath. “Okay, I need to speak to McLaggen. Jacob, go and start the preliminaries.” The older Auror gave a noticeable smirk as he left, but not by a flicker did Scorpius betray his disappointment.

“What can I do, Harry?” he asked.

“Get to the mortuary and rescue Felix. Take this Portkey and bring Tamara back here. Seal her in my office if you have to.” As he got up, he tapped Scorpius on the arm. “Sorry, I know you want to be in on the interview, but she trusts you and I need her kept safe until we work out who’s trying to kill her.”

 

Tamara Flint was not happy to be dragged away from the mortuary. Declaring that she felt safe with Felix, she dug her high heels in and refused to budge, only agreeing when Felix told her, with some reluctance, that he had to return to work because he had a body to dissect. “It’s not a nice one, Mara,” he said in response to her request to watch. “Gouty old man who contracted dragon pox - could still be infectious - which is why they’ve given me the body. I’m immune.”

When Tamara sighed and finally agreed, Scorpius tapped the metal bookend Harry had handed him, and waited for it to glow. They crashed back into Harry’s office, Tamara collapsing on the ground, but Scorpius stayed on his feet, and bent down to help her up. 

“So, what’s the plan, Auror-boy?” she said sarcastically as she flopped into Harry’s chair. “Have you caught my would be killer?” 

He shook his head. “We believe it’s connected to you being Jonah Flint’s heir.” She rolled her eyes; he couldn’t blame her. “But proving it will be difficult. Harry said you didn’t see anything.”

“Not a thing,” she replied. “It has to be Karis - she’d hate me to inherit when Jonah dies.”

“Karis isn’t the heir, though. If Jonah dies before her, then Marcus inherits.”

Tamara grimaced and asked Scorpius for a drink of water. She didn’t speak until she’d taken a sip and then carefully placed the glass on Harry’s desk, centring it on a coaster. 

“I liked Marcus when I was growing up,” she said slowly. “He might have been older than me, but we always got on well.”

“Things change when there’s money involved,” Scorpius replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “If he’s just found out who you really are, then that is one hell of a shifting circumstance.”

“But he hasn’t just found out,” she said.

“What?”

“Marcus  _knows_  I’m Jonah’s daughter. He was abroad when I had a concert tour in Hungary, and he recognised my face from the posters. He got in touch; we got talking, and I told him the truth. He’s also known where I’ve been living for the past five years, so why on earth would he decide to kill me now?”

“He knew? But ... Jonah didn’t mention that.”

Tamara started to snort. “Marcus didn’t tell him he knew. Both like having their secrets, and no doubt Marcus was planning to blackmail Jonah over it if he needed something in the future.” She shrugged at the bemusement on Scorpius’ face. “It’s the way the Flints roll, Auror-boy.”

He heard a noise from the main office, footsteps and then. “Anyone here?” 

“Who’s that?” Tamara whispered, sinking right back into the chair. 

Scorpius peered through the crack in the door and grimaced. “No one who’d want to kill you, but I should get rid of him.”

“Why?”

“Because if he finds you here, then you won’t be missing anymore.” Her eyes widened in surprise so he continued with a whisper, “It’s Harry’s son. He’s a reporter.”

Leaving her still huddled in the chair, Scorpius closed the door behind him, surreptitiously locking it, and walked into the main office. James was lounging on a desk, his head jerking upwards when he heard him approach. Frowning, Scorpius prayed he hadn’t left anything pertaining to the case on his desk, but all he could see was his Dad’s note, and that was hardly worthy of the Prophet’s interest.

“Your dad’s been here, then?” James asked, casually. “Any particular reason?”

_Hell, he’s sharp._  “His son works here,” Scorpius said smoothly. “Do you always read people’s private letters?”

“I thought you weren’t speaking to him.”

“I’m not,” Scorpius lied, adding, “but I still talk to my Mum, and as you obviously know, she’s the one who wants to see me.” He shrugged and tucked the note in his pocket. “I can see the headline now, Potter. ‘Astoria Malfoy talks to her son over tea and crumpets!’ - What a scoop!”

“Merlin you’re prickly today,” James complained. “Look, I won’t lie to you. I  _am_  here to chase up the story, but you can hardly blame me for that. The Auror department is still talking to our editor’s son, so we’re not going to ignore that, are we?”

“True,” Scorpius said grudgingly. “You won’t find anything in here, though.”

“I came to see you,” James replied, sounding sincere. “I  _did_  mean it about getting together for a drink, and I won’t pump you for information, even if you’re blind drunk - okay? Come on, I think we could be good mates if we got to know each other, and Lily would like it.”

Scorpius shuffled his feet, feeling embarrassed by James’ openness. “I’d like that. I’m going to see Mum on Saturday, but could meet up later... around sevenish.”

“Yup, it’s a date!” James said, grinning at him. Hopping off the desk, he sauntered out of the room but hesitated before he stepped into the corridor. “One thing, Malfoy. Just what have you got secreted in my dad’s office?”

“Nothing!” Scorpius snapped, immediately on his guard. 

“Oh, really...” James smiled slyly. “Only you made a big deal of locking that door non-verbally.”

“Ah, you caught me,” Scorpius replied, his brain whirring. He smirked and stage-whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s your cousin, Hugo. He Apparated here to declare his undying lust for me. I’ve locked him up before he gets too embarrassing.” As James burst into laughter, Scorpius continued, masking his need for James to leave, with a grin. “Sorry, I’ve been told to keep the door locked, and as you can tell, I need all the practise I can get in casting non-verbals.”

 

He watched James go, loping down the corridor and towards the Press Room, where he could pick up any information the Ministry deemed fit to release. At least, it looked as though he was heading for the Press Room, but Scorpius knew in all probability he was going to lurk around the corner and ambush Harry or Proudfoot for a quote. As James disappeared from sight, an idea occurred to Scorpius and he turned back to Harry’s office, wondering if Tamara would agree. 

***

“Okay, run this past me again,” Harry said wearily, “because I’m not sure how this will help in the slightest.”

Scorpius bit his lip, stifling the frustration he felt because he knew Harry was equally frustrated having spent an hour with McLaggen, who had refused to say a word.

“Just bloody refused to open his mouth!” Harry had said. “Except to confirm who he was. Just nodded, shook his head, or stared at his hands. Must be the longest that idiot has ever been silent!”

“Er ... okay,” Scorpius said. “So what I thought was that these attacks on Tamara have happened since we discovered her existence, right?” Harry nodded. “But she says Marcus has known who she is for a while and also where she is, as has Jonah Flint, so ... well, they’re the ones with most to lose by her being around.”

“But haven’t done anything about it. Mmm, I get that,” Harry replied. “What I don’t understand is why you think her coming out of hiding is a good idea.”

“If everyone knows the truth, then they can’t do much about it without drawing even more attention to themselves. Tamara being the heir will be a done deal. Besides, I’m not saying that we should stop the protection, just stop the secrecy surrounding the motive for wanting her dead.”

Harry switched his attention to Tamara, who was no longer sitting in his chair, but was pacing the room. “What do you think about this? It will mean you’ll be drawn back into this world.”

“Better than being dead in my own,” she muttered. Then she sighed. “I knew it was inevitable as soon as you appeared on my doorstep, Harry. I recognised you immediately. And, as much as I despise certain parts of this world, I can’t deny its existence.”

“This is a high risk strategy, Tamara,” Harry stated. 

“But you think it could work.” Her eyes bored into Harry’s then flicked to Scorpius’ face and she smiled. 

“It has the advantage that your would be killer will know we’re on to them, and that could be enough to keep you safe. The downside is that we might never discover who it was that tried to kill you ... or put Pat in St. Mungo’s.”

Tamara stared out of the window and as the sun peeked through the clouds, its rays catching her face, Scorpius was struck by the vulnerability in her expression. It was, he thought, the first time he’d seen genuine emotions on her face.

“Is Pat going to recover?” she asked, turning her dark eyes away from the window and back to Harry. “God, I still feel so powerless. I don’t even have a wand anymore.” 

“Latest from St Mungo’s is that she’ll be fine,” said Harry. He took a deep breath and then exhaled loudly. “Okay, Tamara, if this is what you want to do, then go ahead. Scorpius can take you. It’s less noticeable if you leave with him rather than me.” He hesitated, ruminating on something, before turning back to Scorpius. “I don’t think you should use the Floo, as we don’t know who’s watching the network.”

“The attacker!”

Harry snorted. “No, I was thinking more of James.”

 

They needed a disguise, for despite Scorpius not being well-known himself, to someone watching the Auror office he was distinctive largely due to his father. Not to mention that at their destination, Scorpius was very well known, having only left the previous year.

“School robes?” Tamara exclaimed. He waited for the hissy fit, but she started to laugh. “Haven’t worn these for years. You, however, look as if you’ve only just put yours away.”

“I left in June,” he said. 

“You don’t mind going back, then? No bad memories of your incarceration?”

“Incarceration?” He raised his eyebrows. “I loved Hogwarts, especially my final year, and ... well ... it’s not the first time I’ve been back.”

“What was so special about your last year?” she asked, submitting to his spell as Scorpius changed the colour of her hair. 

He shrugged, not wishing to tell her, but Tamara grabbed his arm, not letting him finish his spell casting. “I’m interested, Scorpius. My seventh year was when it all fell apart. The pressure to get good results, the row with my boyfriend, the realisation that I wasn’t a legitimate Flint - it bloody nearly broke me.”

“Uh, well, I met someone,” he said lamely. Then he grinned. “Harry’s daughter, actually. Changed a lot of things for me, too, but in the best way possible.”

She smiled but said no more, letting him continue until her hair was a dull shade of light-brown and her eyes a vapid blue. Then he turned his wand around and, tapping the top of his head, became brunette. 

“Does not suit you at all!” Tamara said and started to chuckle. “You look like the Muggle version of a vampire.”

“Ha, ha,” he said sarcastically. “The point is that no one will recognise me unless they get really close.”

He Apparated, taking her Side-Along, to the road leading from Hogsmeade up to the school. Although the sky was darkening, the weather was kind to them, and for that he was grateful, because he had a feeling that if anything approaching rain caught them, then Tamara would spend the whole walk up to castle moaning. As it was, she was quiet, casting glances around her and remarking on things she recognised, or things that were new. 

“God, I never thought I’d see this place again,” Tamara said, shuddering when they first glimpsed the castle.

“Was it really that bad?” Scorpius asked, curious in spite of his usual reticence. 

“I was a Slytherin returning to my third year in nineteen ninety eight,” she began, pausing as a flock of birds flew overhead towards their roosting spots on the castle roof. “I expect you can understand how unpopular we were.”

“You had nothing to do with the battle, though.” Scorpius pointed out.

“HA! Like that was going to stop anyone.” She turned her face towards him, and despite the vacuousness of her Transfigured pallid eyes, he caught real emotion there. “You must know what I’m talking about, Scorpius  _Malfoy_ ”

“It’s better now,” he mumbled.

“But still not gone away, I bet.” She smiled sadly. “I thought the Muggle world would be different, but sadly all that matters there is how much money you have.”

They carried on in silence for a while, Scorpius pondering on his years at Hogwarts. Any prejudice he’d experienced had been largely down to his name and resemblance to his dad, and he’d always been able to handle it with a smart retort. 

“So,” she said after a few more minutes pacing, “how did Harry Potter’s daughter change your life, Auror-boy?”

“She just did,” he replied curtly, not liking the mockery in her tone. “And will you stop calling me that? I’m not an Auror, and I’m not a boy.”

“Sorry,” she murmured. “What does she do?”

“She’s still at Hogwarts.”

“Ahh, no wonder you were so keen on this plan. And fully disguised, too. Sneaky, Scorpius, very sneaky.” 

Ignoring her, he took out his wand as they entered the grounds and across the forecourt towards the Entrance Hall. 

“Are you planning a particularly romantic reunion?” she said, melodramatically clasping her hands to her heart and sighing. “You really should conjure some flowers, Auror-boy!”

“At the moment, I’m trying to keep you alive!” he snapped. “And you need to keep your head down and try to look like a pupil and not a ... a ...”

“Middle-aged witch?” she inquired innocently. “I know I can’t pass for a schoolgirl, Scorpius, but I am only thirty-seven. Besides, if I keep my head down and we tag along after some pupils no one will notice.” She started to pull up the hood of her cloak, casting surreptitious glances at a crowd of girls on their way back from Herbology. “What house are they?”

He glanced over at the girls, some giggling, others sighing as they hoisted heavy bags over their shoulders. “Mixture, I think,” he murmured. “The girl in the middle is Chloe Nott - I played Quidditch with her last year.”

“So she’s a Slytherin,” Tamara said slowly. “And the others are ...”

“Ravenclaws, probably, as they’re on their way back from Herbology.” Scorpius smiled slightly at her. “My Mum was Sorted into Slytherin, the September straight after the Battle, so I understand a little of what you went through and faced, but things have changed, you know.” 

“For your generation, perhaps,” she said darkly, “for someone like me, I’m always going to be tarred with the brush of dark magic. Can’t help it being a Flint. God, if I come back to this world I’ll be stuck talking to bloody men like my ex Edgar Montague for the rest of my life.”

“Felix is a Hufflepuff,” Scorpius said slyly. “He seemed to like talking to you.” He wasn’t imagining the faint flush on her cheeks.

“What are you smirking at?” she said crossly. 

“Nothing,” he replied, adding casually, “only, next time you see him you really should conjure some flowers ...”

Her lips pressed together and he could see a scowl on her brow even as her cheeks burned a deeper red. 

“Shouldn’t we get a move on?” she snapped. “She might be busy.”

The change of subject was so obvious that he utterly failed to stop the laugh escaping from his lips. Still chuckling at her obvious annoyance, Scorpius quickened his pace, to tag along at the back of the group of fourth years, and together they followed Chloe Nott as she made her way to the dungeons.

 

Lavender was waiting for them when they arrived. She wasn’t noticeable, having heeded Harry’s warning, but the door to the Professor’s study - the way through to their private quarters - opened quickly as they approached. Scorpius ushered Tamara in, before entering and closing the door firmly behind him.

“Why all this need for secrecy?” Lavender asked, her eyes swooping over Scorpius and then to Tamara. “Have we met?”

“Once, briefly, but I didn’t look like this,” Tamara replied as she took off her cloak. Waiting until Scorpius had taken off the disguise, she held out her hand to Lavender. “I’m Tamara Flint. Scorpius tells me you’d be interested in writing my story.”

Through narrowed eyes, Lavender’s attention flicked away from Tamara and back to Scorpius. “What are you not telling me? And why are you in disguise?”

“Didn’t want to be followed,” Scorpius replied smoothly, and then smiled grimly at her. “Since Harry went to see Tamara, she’s been the subject of a number of attempts on her life.” He paused, taking in the look of incredulity on Lavender’s face. “We think it has to be connected to the discovery that she’s Jonah’s heir, and-”

“Scorpius thinks that if I come out into the open, then the attempts will stop,” Tamara interrupted, then half smiling, she squeezed his hand. “Or else the killer will try again, but at least I’ll be prepared.”

As Scorpius watched Lavender, he saw the conflict within her. The story would anger her mother-in-law, and possibly upset her husband, but her journalistic instinct was too strong. This was a scoop that would in all likelihood command the front page, and her name wouldn’t be relegated to fifth page feature articles on notable, but dull, worthies. With a businesslike nod, Lavender gestured towards the stairs leading up to her private rooms then, looking over Tamara’s shoulder, told Scorpius to leave them together. “Wait outside, will you? We can talk better in private.” She winked at him. “I’m sure you’ll find something - or someone - to catch up with, especially as afternoon lessons are over.”

Needing no further prompting, (but after making sure the room Lavender and Tamara had moved to was secure) Scorpius slunk out of Professor Zabini’s study, and sauntered along the corridor towards the Entrance Hall. He wasn’t entirely sure where Lily would be, but if he lurked for long enough, he could waylay her when she came down for dinner. He smiled to himself, wondering whether they’d be able to sneak away somewhere, and was just working out the quickest route to the Greenhouses, when he heard a familiar laugh. He stopped walking, and peered ahead to see Lily coming out of a Potions classroom and frowned. She didn’t do Potions. There was no need for her to be there, but when he saw who she was with, his stomach churned.

“Thank you so much, Aaron,” he heard her say. 

“Anytime,” Aaron replied, and he smiled at her. “Thank you for ... well, you know.”

_Thank you for what?_  Scorpius closed his eyes, his stomach now lurching, but as he slumped back against the stone wall, something cleared in his head.  _This is Lily,_  he thought.  _She’s not going to piss me around..._

He watched, trying not to call out when Aaron checked both ways before running back to his common room, Lily waving him goodbye. And then, as she turned away, sauntering towards the stone steps, a smile on her lips, he stuck out an arm, and pulled her behind the statue.

“WHAT THE--!” she shouted. 

Quickly he put his hand over her mouth, turned her around to face him, and hissed, “It’s me!” Still she struggled. “Your  _boyfriend,_  remember?”

“What are you doing here?” She flushed, and continued to struggle, moving something in her hand to behind her back. “And why’s your hair that colour?”

“Great to see you, too,” he said waspishly. His hand snaked behind her back, his fingers circling her wrist. “What’s this?”

“Get off!” she squealed.

“No, I want to see what it is,” Scorpius replied through gritted teeth. “Harper giving you presents now, is he?”

She stopped struggling, and her hand dropped to her side. Instantly he grabbed the packet from her hand, bemused when he discovered it was an envelope. With grim satisfaction, as Lily stepped away, he opened it, and pulled out a wad of photographs. She folded her arms across her chest, staring at him coldly.

“What are these?” he asked, flipping through them. He paused, focusing on a picture of Lily flying, her hair in disarray and a frown on her face as she stretched out her hand for the Snitch. She was on his broom, the broom he’d given her when he’d left Hogwarts: his Firebolt X. “This is you, but your match isn’t ‘til Saturday.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she rebuked. “Aaron took some photographs of our practise - he’s been following all the houses - and said he had some good shots of me on _your_  broom. I thought you might like them!”

He studied another one, Lily collapsed on the floor, being helped up by the Gryffindor captain. “You landed badly,” he muttered.

“Well boo-bloody-hoo,” she retorted, and took several steps back. “Take it up with my captain.”

“Lily,” he called out despairingly.

“What!”

“Uh ...” He waited until she’d stopped walking, her head turned sideways, ready to look back. “Sorry?” he offered.

She paused; he stepped closer and when she didn’t move, he wove his hands around her waist and touched his forehead to hers. “I’ve missed you.”

“Then why are you sniping at me?” she asked.

“Because I’m a dick?” he offered.

Lily giggled, and snuggled closer. “And why  _is_  your hair dark brown?”

He touched his lips to hers and held her close, inhaling the soft scent of her hair. “Can’t tell you. It’s something to do with work, but it got me in here and I have some free time now, so can we spend it together?”

“I expect so,” she whispered, “but we’ll have to go somewhere private because if I’m seen snogging someone who isn’t Scorpius Malfoy, my name will be Thestral dung!”

He smirked, having no intention of remaining in the draughty corridor with her and, taking her arm, pulled her back and into the dark classroom she’d just vacated. He hesitated on the threshold, remembering what he’d just seen, and before he could stop himself, the question tumbled from his lips. “Why did you and Harper meet in secret? Couldn’t he have just handed the photographs over in Herbology, or something?”

“You  _are_  jealous, aren’t you?” she said incredulously. Her eyes crinkled in shocked amusement as she gently stroked his cheek. “There’s no real mystery about it. Hugo is a pain in the bum whenever I mention Aaron, so it was easier for me to meet him down here. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Just ignore me. I know there’s nothing to it.” 

“Exactly. Not only do I have this pretty amazing boyfriend who gave me a fantastic broom, but Aaron is still grossly loved up with Genister.” Her lips pursed as she said the girl’s name, a faint look of antipathy in her expression.

“Is she out of hospital yet?” he asked, loading his voice with concern. Lily nodded and tried not to glower. “Poor girl, must have been hard for her.”

With a very audible snort, Lily pulled a face. “We were all there. I don’t know why you think she suffered anymore than the rest of us.”

He grinned down at her, then lowered his mouth to her ear. “Now who sounds jealous?”

“You pig!” She thumped him on the arm. “And it’s entirely different. There’s absolutely no reason for you to suspect me and Aaron, but you and Gen-”

“What about me and Genister?” He laughed at the ludicrousness of her accusation, quite prepared to tease her further, then blinked when he saw her gnawing at her lip. “Uh ... Lily, what the hell are you on about?”

“You get on well with her,” she said sulkily. “You always did, I remember from last year.”

He wanted to laugh again; the idea that he could possibly be interested in Genister was preposterous, but he suddenly realised that Lily was deadly serious. “Why would I be interested in her?” he asked.

“She’s intelligent, pretty, and being a pure-blood, your family would approve.”

Sliding his hands to her waist, Scorpius stared down at her. “She’s boring, you’re prettier and I don’t give a fuck about my family,” he chided. “Come on, you know that!”

“I do know,” she whispered. “It’s just hard being here without you.”

“Tell me about it,” he replied. “I can’t wait for Christmas. I’m not going to let you out of my bed for at least a week.”

Giggling, she wound her hands around his neck. “I don’t think your boss will approve if you don’t turn up for work.” Then standing on tiptoes, Lily kissed him on the lips, manoeuvred him through the door, kicking it shut with her foot. “We’re wasting a lot of time,” she murmured.

With his back against the wall, Scorpius pulled her closer, running his fingers up and down her back, his lips pressing onto hers, his need for her desperate and unassuaged. Right at that moment, he didn’t care that this was irresponsible, that they could easily be disturbed, because all he could see was Lily, all he could feel was her hot breath on his neck and all he could taste was her skin. His hand slid inside her robes, moulding around her left breast, delighting in the sudden gasp emerging from her throat. He heard his heart thumping fast, hard and loud - so loud that Scorpius couldn’t believe Zabini hadn’t turned up to investigate the intruders in his classroom.

“Lily! Lily! Open the door!”

To Scorpius' utter horror, he realised the noise was external, and the voice shouting outside the classroom was one of Lily’s cousins.

“She’ll go away if we keep quiet,” Lily whispered, a fit of giggles threatening to engulf her.

“Lily! I know you’re in there,” Roxanne repeated, “And I know who you’re with! Let me in. It’s important!”

“Does she really?” Scorpius asked.

Lily started to shake her head, and then groaned. “Hell, she probably does. It’s Roxy’s turn for the Map. You changing your hair colour will have no effect whatsoever.”

“The Marauder’s Map,” he stated, trying to cover his disappointment. Lily had showed him the Map the previous year; at the time, he’d been fascinated and they’d certainly used it to their advantage to evade her family, but now he could only think how bloody annoying it was the damn thing had ever been invented.

“I’ll have to open the door,” Lily said, reluctantly pulling away and straightening her clothes.

He nodded, trying not to look like a petulant child, and hauled himself up onto one of the workbenches, picking up a text book that someone had left there and flicking through it.

“Sorry!” Roxanne said breathlessly as she burst into the classroom. She beamed at Scorpius, and despite really loathing her sense of timing, he couldn’t help but smile back. “I thought you might want to see this.”

“A copy of the  _Prophet_?” Scorpius said, feeling somewhat underwhelmed. That could have waited.

“Latest edition,” Roxanne replied, and took a breath. “There’s a picture of that girl from the forest, and you’re mentioned, Scorpius.”

“Am I?” He slid off the bench and took the paper from her, spreading it out in front of him. Both girls joined him, Lily resting her hand on his shoulder as she read, Roxy pointing out the main points of the story.

“Look, that’s where you’re mentioned, accompanying Auror Proudfoot on the search of a property. It says someone’s been arrested as well, doesn’t say who, though?” Roxanne stared beadily at him, obviously expecting a response.

“I’m not telling you anything, Rox,” he said, and laughed when Lily nudged him. “I’m not saying anything to you, either. Your dad would not only hex me to pieces, but probably kick me out of the Auror Department.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ll only be fit for cleaning the boots of the Chudley Cannons.”

As he rolled up the newspaper, intent on handing it back to Roxanne, he heard a rush of footsteps outside in the corridors. “I can’t stay here,” he said, “Zabini will be along to lock up soon.”

“I’m starving,” Roxanne announced. 

“Well, go to dinner,” said Lily, sounding huffy as she took Scorpius by the arm. 

“You can’t bring Scorpius into the hall,” Roxanne retorted, “Even with that hair - which really doesn’t suit you, you know - he’ll be recognised.”

“I’m not planning to,” Lily said airily, and linking her arm in Scorpius’, she started to pull him out of the classroom. “ _We’re_ going to the kitchens, Rox, and before you ask, you are _not_  coming with us.”

 

Keeping his head down, Scorpius made it to the kitchens by means of slipping through a tide of Hufflepuffs going the other way. Waiting for Lily, (who had decided to take her bag back to Gryffindor) he sat back in his chair, chuckling as a host of house-elves busied themselves with getting the food ready. The warmth of the room and the generosity of the house-elves was another thing he missed about Hogwarts, for he’d spent a fair few evenings in the kitchens with Lily last year. 

“Is the young master wishing to have some food?” asked a house-elf. He glanced at her, taking in the smart Hogwarts tea towel uniform and neat white cap on her head with a stripe running around the rim, indicating that she was in charge. 

“Hello, Frinkle,” he said, smiling. 

“Is that Master Scorpius?” she asked, peering closely at him. “Frinkle is gettin’ old and can’t see properly, but Frinkle’s hearin’ is as good as ever.”

“Yes, it’s Scorpius,” he replied, and lifted his wand to change his hair back to blond. 

“Are you visitin’ Miss Lily?” she asked.

“Um, well, I’m meeting her here, Frinkle, but I actually came to see Mrs Zabini.” His stomach rumbled. “Any chance of a snack?”

“Of course,” she replied, and scurried off to the far corner of the kitchen. 

He smiled, then pulled out Roxanne’s copy of  _The Prophet_ , and began to read more thoroughly. It seemed, from what had been written, that Harry had authorised the story. There was nothing critical of the Auror Department, and much was made of the photograph and identity of the victim, but although it stated that there had been an arrest, Cormac McLaggen was not mentioned by name. 

The door opened and closed with a bang; he looked up, grinning as Lily rushed into the kitchen. “Ughh, I could cheerfully strangle Roxy,” she declared. “She’s now told both Hugo and Fred that you’re here and is pouring over the Map with them both.”

“So no sneaking off,” he said. Then he shrugged. “Not our evening, is it?”

“Sorry,” she sighed.

“Doesn’t matter.” He held out his hand and pulled her onto his lap. “Let’s eat and talk. I’ll have to get back soon, anyway.”

“Here’s some food for Master Scorpius,” Frinkle said, bringing a large plate piled up with chicken pie, mashed potato, carrots and gravy. “And what can Frinkle be getting Miss Lily?”

“Same as Scorpius, please,” she replied, “but only if you’re not too busy. I can go up to the Hall later, if that’s easier.”

Frinkle didn’t answer. Instead of the usual bob and curtsey, she stayed where she was. It was so unusual, that Scorpius turned his attention away from Lily and watched to see what the house-elf was doing.

She was reading. In her hand, she held the newspaper and was following the story, her lips parting slightly as she struggled over the words. “It’s Miss Sally-Ann,” she murmured, one gnarled finger tracing the photograph.

“You knew her?” Scorpius asked in surprise.

Her chest puffed importantly. “Frinkle is knowin’ everyone that visits these kitchens. Miss Sally-Ann used to come here all the time.” She shuffled her feet a little on the cold stone floor and sniffed before continuing. “Is this true? Is it Miss Sally-Ann that you be findin’ in the dark forest?”

As Lily got off his lap, Scorpius put down his fork, and twisted around to face the house-elf. Her huge eyes glistened in the lamplight with pent-up tears, and it struck him suddenly that this was the first show of sadness he’d seen for the dead girl. “It’s true, Frinkle,” he replied softly. Touching her thin arm very gently with his forefinger, he waited until she’d stopped staring at the photograph and was looking into his eyes. “Can you remember the last time you saw her?”

She didn’t need to think, her answer came readily. “Was when bad Mistress Umbridge was here. Frinkle remembers because Miss Sally-Ann was very sad and used to visit the kitchens all the time. Frinkle used to make Miss Sally-Ann her favourite foods.” She smiled to herself, recalling a fond memory, no doubt. “Frinkle used to tease the young lady. Miss Sally-Ann liked strange foods.”

“Did she?” Scorpius asked, not really interested in that but thinking that if he kept her talking then Frinkle might be able to narrow down the dates.

“Oh, yes! Frinkle remembers all the pickles she liked, and ice cubes. Miss Sally-Ann liked crunching them up - even in winter.”

“When did you last-”

“Did she always like odd foods, Frinkle?” Lily’s question cut across Scorpius’ voice and the house-elf switched her focus to her, much to Scorpius’ annoyance.

“Oh, no, Miss Sally-Ann had always been most particular about her meals. She was liking plain food and nothing fancy or foreign.”

“So her tastes changed in the last ... year?” Lily asked.

Scorpius frowned, but not at her, merely wondering where her line of questioning was leading. Fussing over her apron, Frinkle took a step away, no longer looking at either of them. 

“Frinkle,” Lily said very gently, “It would help Scorpius and my dad if you could tell them everything you know about Sally-Ann.”

Despite the clanging of pans around them and the chatter of the other house-elves, a silence hung over the three of them. And then the tears that had threatened spilled down Frinkle’s age mottled face, and she grabbed at a tea towel to staunch the flow. Scorpius watched as Lily crouched down beside her, one hand on her arm, and when she spoke, it was in a voice of utmost tenderness.

“When my godmother was pregnant, Frinkle, she liked eating very strange foods, and I remember she used to fill a glass with more ice cubes than pumpkin juice. Of course, no one really thought much of it because she’s Luna Scamander and everyone knows she’s odd,” Lily smiled ironically, her eyes flickering to Scorpius, but then she became serious again. “Was Sally-Ann pregnant, Frinkle?”

Frinkle looked terrified, her eyes even huger and she backed away. Running towards the wall, she started to bang her head against the bricks, loudly crying out her apologies. “Frinkle is sorry, Miss Sally-Ann. Frinkle is sorry for tellin’ your secret, but Frinkle has to-“ 

Seeing enough, Scorpius strode across the room, picked Frinkle up and sat her on his chair. “She’s dead,” he said, more brutally than he’d intended. “Your promise doesn’t hold, Frinkle, and it’s important you tell us everything you know.” 

Frinkle stared at the wall, then at Lily, before turning her huge eyes on him. “Miss Sally-Ann told Frinkle her secret, and Frinkle promised not to tell.” The house-elf shuddered, her attention now on the newspaper and the photograph of the dead girl. “Miss Sally-Ann was goin’ to have a baby.”

“Did she say who the father was?”

Frinkle shook her head firmly. “Miss Sally-Ann is not tellin’ and Frinkle is not askin’, but she was plannin’ on speakin’ to her young man before she went away.”

_And that,_  thought Scorpius,  _is what you call a motive._  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Oh Oh - is the noose tightening around the insufferable Cormac's neck?


	9. Motive

“Pregnant?” Harry whipped around from where he was standing by the water cooler, his eyes quick and interested.   
  
Scorpius nodded, then wrinkled his nose. “Well, it’s what Sally-Ann told Frinkle - that’s the head house-elf in the kitchens - and Frinkle isn’t going to lie, not when she feels she has to bash her head against the wall- ”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, waving his hands impatiently. “But did Sally-Ann tell the house-elf the truth?”  
  
Scorpius bit his lip. He had been so sure, but Harry’s argument was making him doubt the veracity of the information. Frinkle had been adamant and Lily ... Lily had picked up on it before he had. “Frinkle said she was eating odd foods, and had been for a month or more.” He cleared his throat, wondering whether to mention Lily, but they shouldn’t have been there together and if Harry knew he’d been snogging his daughter, he’d be bounced back down to clerk quicker than he could say ‘Kneazle.’  
  
“Scorpius, get on with it!”  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered then coughed again. “Frinkle recognised Sally-Ann’s photograph and started telling me about the change in eating habits. I ... er ... remembered Lavender eating pickles and cheesecake earlier this year when she was pregnant.”  
  
“Very sharp of you,” Harry murmured. Then he smiled, albeit reluctantly. “Okay, I concede that’s a decent enough motive.” Swallowing some water, Harry stared very intently at Scorpius, before finally nodding. “Right, I’ll get in touch with Felix, see if he can confirm this from the body. Although there’s a chance that any evidence of pregnancy will have been lost by now. However, we also have Professor Sprout’s story that Sally-Ann had a boyfriend who was going to take care of her.” He stopped talking as he deliberated over the new lead, and Scorpius could see the debate raging in Harry’s head. If this was only hearsay, then it wouldn’t stand up in court. Without a confession, the motive was sketchy at the very best.  
  
“We’ll put it to him anyway,” Harry decided. “Might just be the only chance we have of getting him to crack.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“It’s your lead, Scorpius. Your piece of evidence, and I want you in on the interview.”  
  
  
“Thank you!” Scorpius exclaimed.  
  
“Go home, get a decent night’s sleep and we’ll tackle him in the morning.”  
  
“Will do.” But on his way out, Scorpius hesitated. “Uh ... I haven’t finished the update on Tamara. Should I do that first?”  
  
Harry clicked his tongue, but not out of frustration, it seemed, because his next words were calm. “Normally I’d tell you to take your notes to the typing pool, but I don’t want the information getting out before Lavender’s story hits the paper, and we have a safer haven for her than the Zabini quarters at Hogwarts. They got on well, you said.”  
  
Scorpius nodded. “Mmm, Lavender had heard of Mara Stone, and the professor didn’t object to her staying there - in fact he suggested it and then cleared it with Vector.”  
  
“Hogwarts is about as safe as we can get,” Harry murmured, “especially with the extra wards you set up on their Floo connection. Zabini didn’t mind about that, did he? It will make it harder for him to leave and impossible for anyone to visit.”  
  
“His exact words were ‘Now no one from my infernal step-family can drop in unannounced!’” replied Scorpius, smiling as he remembered the look of amusement on Lavender’s face. “Besides, it’s not forever.”  
  
“And Tamara knows not to contact anyone?”  
  
“Mmm, well, I told her not to, and Lavender said she’d watch her.”  
  
Harry eyed Scorpius with something approaching approval. “You sound suspicious of Tamara. Do you think she’s lying?”  
  
“No. But I do think her perceptions of her family are skewed. She’s remembering them from years ago. She loathes Jonah but seems to like Marcus. I don’t know Tabitha, but she’s not in line to inherit anything unless Marcus and his kids don’t for some reason.”  
  
“David is the oldest boy, is that right?” Harry asked, sounding casual.  
  
“Davey would not try to kill her.” Scorpius was adamant. He hadn’t been the same year as Flint, but they’d played Quidditch together. They might not have been close, but Davey Flint ... He shook his head. “He’s only seventeen.”  
  
“People do the worst things under pressure, Scorpius,” Harry murmured. His eyes flickered and he looked at copy of The Prophet in Scorpius’ hand. “Sally-Ann Perks was sixteen when she died, and our chief suspect was only seventeen at the time. I can’t use age as a reason to think him innocent.”  
  
“But Davey is ... He’s ...” Scorpius shook his head. “It’s impossible. He was at Hogwarts.”  
  
Harry started to laugh, not triumphantly, there was a hollow ring to the sound. “It’s easy to sneak out and back in. You know that as well as I do.” Rubbing the back of his head and ruffling his hair into even messier spikes, Harry tried but failed to swallow a yawn. “Look, I’m not about to go and arrest him, if that’s what you’re worried about. Go home, get some sleep, take your notes with you, if you want, and then come back tomorrow and we’ll have another crack at McLaggen. God knows we need something!”  
  
“Still not talking, then?”  
  
  
  
Harry shook his head. “When I played Quidditch with him, all I wanted was for him to shut the hell up, now he’s actually done it, I’m half tempted to use a Babbling Charm just to see if he can actually say anything.”  
  
“Do you want to question him now?”  
  
“No. Give him another night in one of our most uncomfortable cells and I’ll be willing to bet he’ll be desperate to talk - even if he does deny everything.”  
  


***

  
  
“Scorpius!”  
  
“Huh?” Through the haze of the grey morning, as a light rain tapped on the window, Scorpius groggily opened his eyes. He could hear someone yelling, but he was so tired, it took him a while to realise that it was Ben banging on his bedroom door, and not a hangover from the dream he’d been having.  
  
It had been a replay of his day, except instead of the Potions classroom, he’d been in Transfiguration with Lily and instead of Roxy interrupting them, it had been Harry and Frinkle and it had happened just as Scorpius was ...   
  
“Okay, I’m getting up!” he yelled, his hand fumbling for his watch. “It’s only six-thirty. Why are you waking me?”  
  
“ _Prophet_ ,” Ben replied, sounding worried. “Thought you should see it before you go to work.”  
  
“Lavender’s story!” he exclaimed, surprised because he’d thought Lavender was going to submit for the weekend edition.  
  
“Uh, no, it’s about the Auror department, and you’re mentioned.”  
  
“Hell, what’s James done now?” Groaning, Scorpius crawled out of bed, his foot tangling in his sheet as he landed on the buff coloured carpet, grazing his knee.   
  
The door creaked open; Ben stood there, fully dressed and holding out a cup of tea plus the newspaper. “It’s in ‘The Seer‘ so there’s no byline,” he said and set the mug and paper on the desk in the corner before leaving.   
  
Muttering ‘thank you for the tea’, Scorpius, after untangling his foot, padded across to the desk, fearing the worst. The Seer was an anonymous gossip page. Usually it poked fun at Quidditch players, or celebrities, but sometimes it took pot shots at the Ministry.  
  
 _‘It used to take three years to train an Auror. However, word reaches The Seer that in the case of Scorpius Malfoy, it is now less than three months given that Harry ‘Hero’ Potter feels he is competent enough to conduct searches.  
  
Unable to recruit either of his sons to work with him, Hero Potter instead gave a job to his daughter’s boyfriend, thus ensuring that the spirit of nepotism is alive and well in the Ministry.  
  
Malfoy, The Seer has been told, is making the most of this opportunity by following his boss around like a Crup, much to the chagrin of his father (Draco Malfoy - former Curse-Breaker now playing Lord of Malfoy Manor) who is rueing the day his former heir became involved with his rival’s family.’_  
  
“Oh, bloody, bloody, bloody hell!” Scorpius groaned. For a moment, he debated whether to go back to bed. Then he wondered whether to  _stay_  in bed and hide from the day, but that would only be delaying the inevitable. Brooding would not help and neither would imagining Harry’s reaction. (He deliberately didn’t think about his dad choking on his coffee.) He’d go in early and work late.  
  
 _Nepotism!_  That was what annoyed him the most. If he ever made it to Auror, it would be because he worked hard and got results. Lily was not part of the equation - and never had been.  
  
  
Harry was sitting at Proudfoot’s desk, flicking through a file with the other Auror when Scorpius walked in.   
  
“I don’t have to be a Seer to know why you’re in early,” he commented ironically.  
  
“I didn’t say anything to James,” Scorpius began, feeling a stab of annoyance that Proudfoot seemed to be smiling.  
  
Harry grimaced, got off his chair, and handed Scorpius the folder. “I know.  _The Prophet_  is getting its digs in because of who we’re holding. Bit ironic accusing me of nepotism.” Then he sighed. “However, you shouldn’t have been at McLaggen’s flat by yourself.”  
  
“That wasn’t-”  
  
“Your fault,” Harry interrupted. “Yes, I know that, too. Jacob has apologised and said that in his haste to get back, he left you to bring back the equipment. He didn’t know you were intending to take more pictures or look for more evidence.” Pausing, Harry looked briefly from him to Proudfoot and then back to Scorpius. “As things stand, any evidence you collected after Jacob left will be inadmissible.”  
  
Was there any point in telling Harry that Proudfoot had told him to finish up the search? “There wasn’t anything,” Scorpius muttered. “I took some more photographs, but there was nothing else connected to Sally-Ann.”  
  
“Good. Now, have a coffee, read through this file, and then we’ll pay Cormac a visit.”  
  
Despite his unkempt hair, unshaven face, bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothes, Cormac McLaggen still refused to say much more than a muttered ‘yes’ when Harry asked him his name. He glanced with an almost bored expression around the room, taking in Scorpius, the Dictation Quill hovering steadily over a sheet of parchment and finally the slim pale pine wand that Harry had placed on the desk in front of him.  
  
“Her wand, McLaggen,” Harry said. “Perhaps that night in the cells has refreshed your memory.”  
  
“Not the first night I’ve spent locked up, Potter, although at least I don’t have a hangover this morning,” McLaggen replied and yawned.   
  
“So you have no explanation how the dead girl’s wand managed to find its way in your trunk. And why you had a photograph of her.”  
  
“She was my girlfriend. I imagine you have photos of the girls you were seeing.” He smacked his forehead exaggeratedly. “Of course, I forgot, you only ever went out with the lovely Ginny Weasley. How touching!”  
  
“You kept it, McLaggen. For twenty-eight years.” Harry’s voice softened to a whisper. “You must have been fond of her.”  
  
McLaggen snorted, and turning to Scorpius, rolled his eyes. “Forgot it was there. I’m sure in twenty years time your young clerk will barely remember the girl he’s currently screwing. But he might keep a photograph or two.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius saw Harry’s hand twitch as if towards his wand. Curiously, that small gesture stopped Scorpius from reacting to the taunt; instead, he smirked at McLaggen, and leant back in his chair. He’d spent seven years in Slytherin and was a Malfoy, so was adept at dealing with wind-up merchants like McLaggen, especially as they often hid something deeper.   
  
“You were ‘screwing’ her then?” Scorpius asked, adding in a loud aside to Harry, “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be chivalrous.”  
  
“How did the wand get there, McLaggen?” Harry asked, ignoring Scorpius.  
  
  
“No idea,” McLaggen replied, but this time, although he sounded bored, there was an edge to his voice. “And I’m not going to answer any more of your questions without a lawyer.”  
  
Harry stifled a sound of annoyance. The Dictation Quill was proof against any bias, but McLaggen was perfectly entitled to legal representation before he’d been charged with anything.  
  
“I’ll contact the department.”  
  
“No, I want my family’s lawyer,” McLaggen replied as he glanced at Scorpius, “and not an unqualified clerk.”  
  
“And your lawyer is?” Harry asked with a sigh. But it was almost as if he knew because he’d closed his eyes before McLaggen answered with the name ...  
  
“Hermione Weasley.”  
  
  
To his surprise, Scorpius was asked to fetch Hermione. When he’d queried the request (‘Won’t this be a conflict of interest because of your family connection?’) Harry had rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking weary, and replied that as his job was to arrest people and Hermione’s to defend them, it wasn’t the first time there had been a ‘conflict’.  
  
  
“It happens a lot less often these days,” he informed Scorpius. “Hermione is now in charge of the department and generally deals with law-making, rather than law-breakers, but she is the McLaggen family lawyer, so I need to pay her the courtesy of asking for her presence here.”  
  
“Could she refuse?” Scorpius asked.  
  
“Technically she could assign someone else, but she won’t.”  
  
So, with a tingle of anticipation, Scorpius wended his way along the Ministry corridors to her department. He could see her standing behind her desk, back to him as she reached up for a heavy-looking book from the shelves behind her. It was a tidy, well-organised office - in contrast to Harry’s, which always seemed to be awash with folders and parchment - and for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to work for her. He liked Harry’s informality, but there were times when he longed for more ... more ... _precision._  His dad’s study in their old house swam before his eyes - precision was exactly the right word.  
  
He’d been here before; almost six months ago, he’d sat in Madam Weasley’s office and listened as she argued points of law with his father and grandmother - and bested them. At the time, he’d been incredibly grateful, but now he realised she’d be a formidable opponent. Smiling a welcome to him, Hermione quickly gathered her things when he explained why he was there, and her expression turned to one of professionalism.   
  
“How long has he been held?” she demanded.  
  
“Overnight,” Scorpius replied. He’d been instructed to answer Hermione’s basic questions, but nothing that could influence the case. Fortunately, Hermione only asked the basic questions.  
  
“And not charged yet,” she stated, and opened the file containing the post-mortem report and details of the search that Scorpius had handed her.   
  
He shook his head, intrigued as she flicked through the folder, her eyes scanning the pages as they walked towards the holding cell. Her pace slowed and a frown appeared on her face, followed by a glimmer of interest sparking in her eyes. But she said nothing, and entered the room with only a cursory glance at Harry and Proudfoot, who had joined them.  
  
“I would like a word with my client alone.”  
  
“We haven’t charged him, Hermione,” Harry remarked mildly.  
  
“I know that,” she replied in an equally calm tone, “but I would still like to speak to Mr McLaggen without anyone from the Auror Department present, and without your quills.”  
  
“Thirty minutes,” Harry replied.   
  
“An hour,” she countered.  
  
“Forty-five,” Harry said. “If we charge him, then you’ll have all the time you need, Madam Weasley.”  
  
She smirked slightly at the title. “Thank you, Auror Potter, but you may find forty-five minutes is all I need to release my client.”  
  
  
“Hell, hell, hell!” Scorpius heard Harry mutter under his breath, as they reached the corridor.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“She’s onto something already. What did you say to her?”  
  
Stung by Harry’s lack of confidence in him, Scorpius replied huffily, “Only that he hadn’t been charged and had been held overnight. I think she saw something in the file though.”  
  
“Okay, let’s look at the evidence from his flat again. I want to know what she’s seen that we’ve missed.”  
  
  
In the meeting room, Harry spread the photographs from the search scene onto the desk, arranging them in order, but leaving the ones Scorpius had taken when he’d been left alone in a pile. His mouth was set in a thin line, and standing next to him, Scorpius could see the frustration that he’d not been able to crack McLaggen emanating in his rigid expression. On the other side of the table stood Proudfoot, a somewhat amused expression on his face as he contemplated Scorpius.   
  
“This is all we can work with,” Harry snapped, jabbing at the photographs. “Now, look at them, and tell me why I’m not happy.”  
  
“I - I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking for,” Scorpius stuttered.   
  
“Chain of evidence, Scorpius!” Harry said as he jammed his finger on top of each photograph. “This one, taken when you first got there. This one of the open trunk. This is Jacob discovering the wand, and this of him sealing it. This one of the photograph album in the trunk. All are in order. All are correct, but where are the others?”  
  
“Others?” Scorpius was bemused. He’d taken all the pictures laid out on the table. He remembered each shot. “There’s nothing missing.”  
  
“Bloody brilliant! Where was the trunk?” Harry asked, the anger simmering in his voice.   
  
“Er ... in the wardrobe.”  
  
“You don’t sound sure.”  
  
“Jacob found it,” Scorpius muttered.   
  
Harry switched his attention, glaring across the table at the older man. “There’s no photograph of the trunk’s location, Jacob.”  
  
“Isn’t there?” Proudfoot frowned, studying the pictures more intently. “I told Malfoy to take one.”  
  
“No.” Scorpius wasn’t keeping silent this time. “You called me over after you’d already pulled out the trunk. I clearly remember saying I should take a picture before you opened it, but you went ahead without me.”  
  
“No, lad, you said you’d taken one, that’s why I opened it.”  
  
“No,” Scorpius repeated, and keeping his anger in check, turned to face Harry. “He opened the trunk before I had a chance to take a shot. I’m not lying about this.”  
  
“Enough!” Harry thumped the desk. “I do not want a debate about what went wrong, but clearly there’s been a cock up. We have nothing to show whether it had been tampered with or was untouched before we got there. That’s what Hermione has seen, and she could rip the search to shreds.”  
  
“It  _was_  in the trunk, though,” Scorpius muttered, remembering its placement as he studied all the photographs. Again, there was a feeling of disquiet. Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what it was.  
  
“Okay,” Harry said wearily after a wall of gloom had seemed to descend on the room. “Let’s go over what we have.”  
  
“McLaggen went out with her,” Proudfoot started.  
  
“He said he saw her on the train when she was already dead,” Scorpius offered.  
  
“And we’ve been told she was pregnant,” Harry recalled. “But there’s no word back from Felix yet.”  
  
“Good motive, though,” Proudfoot said. “If it’s true. A house-elf’s story won’t count for much.”  
  
“I believe her,” Scorpius retorted. “And why would she lie?”  
  
“Still hearsay,” Harry said, “but ... the accusation might just crack him. Right, Jacob, go to St Mungo’s and chase Felix. If we can’t get anything else on McLaggen then I’ll have to release him.” Sighing, he picked up the photographs from the table, and flipped through them again. “Merlin,  _The Prophet_ are going to love this!”   
  
In silence, Scorpius studied the file, wracking his brain as he tried to pin down the elusive thought that had bothered him since the search. But nothing came to him, and when the forty-five minutes were up, he had Harry walked in silence back to the interrogation room.   
  
  
“So, McLaggen, the dead girl’s wand just appeared in your trunk, did it?” Harry mocked when he resumed the interview.  
  
Scorpius had taken a seat on Harry’s right and was opposite Hermione. There were no smiles on her face now. The consummate professional, she’d perched a pair of glasses on her nose and was eyeing both Harry and Scorpius with an air of confidence. Feeling uneasy, Scorpius glanced at Harry, but he had assumed an equal air of confidence despite the doubts he’d expressed in the meeting room.  
  
“It’s called magic, Harry,” Hermione murmured. “Anyone could have Banished it to my client’s trunk.”  
  
“Mr McLaggen has strong wards set around his flat, Madam Weasley - very strong wards,” Harry replied. “It makes me wonder just what he was hiding.”  
  
“Which he happily dismantled so you could search his home,” she countered. “As for the implication that he has something to hide, Cormac is entitled to a private life, the same as the rest of us.” She paused, deliberating on the evidence in front of her. “Besides, I don’t see any written confirmation that this was Miss Perks’ wand.”  
  
“We do have confirmation,” Harry replied, fishing through his file and pulling out the parchment from the wandmaker. “Garrick Ollivander examined the wand in the presence of Scorpius Malfoy.”  
  
“And Ollivander can also confirm that I stole the wand and kept it in my trunk for twenty odd years, can he?” Cormac leant across the desk, all boredom gone as he stared intently into Harry’s eyes. “I went out with Sally-Ann for a while. We broke up. I haven’t seen her since she hexed me.”  
  
“But you have her wand? How can you explain that?”  
  
Cormac laughed and raised his hands palms upwards to the ceiling. “I’m not a hermit. I ‘entertain’ every so often. My bedroom isn’t out of bounds to  _everyone_.” He started to examine his nails, frowning as he picked the dirt out of them, then got to his feet.   
  
“Considering you have this wealth of evidence, Potter,” Hermione stated. “I’m surprised you haven’t charged my client yet. Ah, hold on, you need a motive, don’t you?”  
  
The nod from Harry was barely imperceptible, but Scorpius took his cue. “How about the fact that she was pregnant with your child?”  
  
“WHAT?!”  
  
“We have evidence,” Harry attacked. “You were her boyfriend. You admit to ‘screwing’ her.”  
  
Slowly, McLaggen shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Despite his inexperience as an interrogator, Scorpius was adept at reading deception; if McLaggen was acting, then he was a master because the shock apparent on his face looked genuine.  
  
“What evidence?” Hermione demanded, but although she sounded calm, Scorpius could tell by the tight line of her mouth that this had rattled her.  
  
“A dad at seventeen,” continued Harry, his tone hovering towards menacing. “Can’t see that going down well with your parents, McLaggen. Forced to leave Hogwarts. Forced to marry the girl. You wouldn’t have liked that - especially as you’ve already told us how annoying she was, and how you’d dumped her!”  
  
“What evidence?” Hermione repeated, her voice getting louder.  
  
“NO!” shouted McLaggen. The force of the word, the strength of his denial took them all by surprise. Scorpius had seen McLaggen lose his temper, but this was different, for now there was frustration evident and the glimmer of a tear in his eye. “No!” he said quietly.  
  
“No, what?” Harry continued, mercilessly.   
  
But McLaggen was silent. Tipping his head back, he stared at the ceiling, his fists unclenching as he heaved great breaths that shook through his bulky frame.  
  
“She finished with me,” he said at last. “And I had no idea she was pregnant.”  
  
Harry started, but only for a second. “And in anger you hit her. Come on, McLaggen, we can be fair on you. Perhaps it wasn’t murder. You lashed out, not with your wand but your fist and she fell backwards.”  
  
“No.”   
  
“It’s manslaughter,” Harry insisted softly. “Maybe even an accident. No one would blame you for being scared of what you’d done. You were seventeen. Barely of age. No one would blame you for running away.”  
  
“Auror Potter! This is hardly fair!”  
  
Harry twisted away from McLaggen and faced Hermione. “Sally-Ann probably didn’t think it was fair either. She’s pregnant, hoping for support from the father and his influential family, but instead is murdered!”  
  
“No,” McLaggen repeated. And in that last exchange he seemed to acquire a degree of control. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, removing the sweat that had beaded there. “She finished with me before Easter, early March, I remember, because it was just after the Ravenclaw - Slytherin game.”   
  
“Perhaps she didn’t know she was pregnant at the time,” Scorpius put in. “She could have told you later.”  
  
Hermione bent her head towards Cormac, whispering something in his ear, that neither Harry nor Scorpius could hear. When she’d finished, Cormac turned to Harry, looking resigned.  
  
“I have been advised to tell you the truth about my relationship with Sally Ann.” He swallowed and then smiled a little bitterly. “I never slept with her. I would have done, given the chance, but she always said no, and ... well ...” He coughed and stole a side glance at Hermione, who to Scorpius’ amazement looked a little flushed. “I may have been a brash idiot at school, but forcing a girl really wasn’t my style.”  
  
“Tell me how the wand got there,” Harry said after a long silence  
  
“I don’t know,” McLaggen replied. “As I said, I’m not always alone, Potter.” He sat back in the chair, now fully composed. “What I can tell you is that I haven’t looked in my school trunk since I moved two years ago. Only kept it out of sentimentality.”  
  
“Then I need a list of recent visitors, McLaggen,” Harry said.  
  
The wariness returned to McLaggen’s demeanour and no longer looking at Harry, he gazed at his hands as they gripped the desk. He exhaled and his fingers started to tap out an unsteady rhythm. “I can’t do that, Potter. It’s a matter of a reputation.”  
  
“I can keep her out of it, Cormac,” Harry murmured. “No one need know her name, unless she’s the murderer.”  
  
“Given the leaks in your department, forgive me if I refuse,” he replied sarcastically.   
  
“In that case ...” Harry cleared his throat. “Cormac McLaggen, I have no option but to charge you with -”  
  
“This is all BOLLOCKS!” McLaggen yelled. “Can your bloody Quill get all this down? I did not kill Sally-Ann Perks. I saw her on the train, after you said she died, Potter. I have no idea how her wand got inside my trunk, and if that’s all you have on me, then it’s not much of a case.”  
  
“Tell me who could have planted the wand, McLaggen.”  
  
“Cormac, they will be discreet,” Hermione assured him. “Or tell me, and I’ll see what can be done.”  
  
For a moment, McLaggen looked as if he were about to confess, and raised his hand to rub at the growth of beard on his chin. The action halted whatever he’d been about to say, for he glanced at his hand, and then switched his gaze to Harry, fixing him with a steely stare. “No,” he said firmly. “I will not give you a name.”  
  
“Cormac McLaggen, I am charging you with -“  
  
“Harry, don’t be ridiculous!”  
  
“Attempting to pervert the course of justice by withholding evidence pertinent to a murder enquiry,” Harry intoned, speaking clearly to the Quill. “You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say can and will be used in evidence against you.”  
  
“Cormac, be reasonable!” Hermione hissed. “Tell him her name.”  
  
“No.” He choked on the word. “I can’t.”


	10. Birthday Gifts

Something soft had fallen on his face. Scorpius, who was only half-awake, gave a yell and then spat a feather out.  
  
“Are you all right?” Ben shouted, hammering on the door.  
  
Sitting up, Scorpius tried to glower at the small owl staring at him hopefully from the side of the bed, but the bird was carrying something, and he knew who it was from.  
  
“I’m okay,” he called back. “Lily’s owl woke me up, that’s all.”  
  
Creaking open the door, Ben entered the room, carrying two cups of tea, a smile on his face. “Happy Birthday,” he said cheerily, and handed over a small package.   
  
Slightly embarrassed, because he had not been expecting Ben to get him anything, Scorpius muttered his thanks and ripped open the paper. He smiled in genuine pleasure when he saw the new moneybag.  
  
“It’s not real dragonskin,” Ben muttered. “Sorry, couldn’t quite aff-”  
  
“Ben, it’s great,” Scorpius replied, interrupting before Ben got embarrassing. “Seriously, this is just what I need.”  
  
“Yeah, I noticed your current one was a bit threadbare.”  
  
“What did Lily get you?” Ben asked, after a moment’s silence when both sipped their tea.   
  
“Not sure ...” he replied, puzzled because Lily had already given him a book when he’d seen her in Hogsmeade. He tore at the paper, ignoring an impatient looking Pomme who was pecking the pillow in search of a treat, and then laughed.   
  
Inside the package was a scarf. It wasn’t brilliantly made, and certain parts of it were more hole than wool, so it was clear that Lily had knitted it herself. He held it up, taking in the red and gold, green and silver wools she’d used; what Lily lacked in skill she more than made up for in enthusiasm.   
  
  
“Er ...very nice ... I think,” Ben said, and started to laugh as he pointed to an irregular sphere in the red and gold half of the scarf. “What is that?”  
  
“The sun, I think.” Scorpius smiled to himself. “And the moon is in Slytherin.”   
  
He didn’t add that his middle name was Hyperion and Lily’s was Luna, but went on to open the card. He burst out laughing. Lily had used one of the photographs Aaron had taken, the one of her landing badly, and had turned it into a card. The words ‘I’ve fallen for you’ floated off the card and into the air, swirling around him, until they fell back into the picture. He should have been embarrassed; last year, if his old girlfriend had sent him anything like that, he’d have scoffed. But this was Lily, and he knew she must have worked hard on it.  
  
“That’s really clever,” Ben said, sounding surprised. “Rose said Lily wasn’t... um ...”  
  
“She’s very good at Charms,” Scorpius said defensively.   
  
“Yeah, I can see.” He took the card from Scorpius and watched as the words swirled again when he opened it. “It’s brilliant.”  
  
Grinning like an idiot, Scorpius looked away and started to hunt for some dried apple chips for Pomme. The little owl pecked them up, hooting softly in thanks and then started to flap his wings.   
  
“Not, yet,” Scorpius said and stroked Pomme under his beak. “Wait for me to send a reply, okay?”  
  
Saying he’d leave him to it, Ben took his tea and walked into their small kitchen. Through the open door, Scorpius could hear him clattering around with a frying pan, and soon the smell of bacon pervaded through the flat. His mouth started to water, and with a pang he remembered the breakfasts at Hogwarts on his birthday, and the owls who would swoop in to deliver presents. He swallowed a little, remembering the stately owl belonging to his Malfoy grandparents, which had landed with far more decorum than Lily’s little scops. They had loved to spoil him, always ensuring he received something expensive from the top of his list. There would be nothing this year, and as he stared out of the window, he wondered if the rift with his grandmother would ever be bridged. But that would require compromise on her part, or him giving up everything that made him happy to fit into her world.   
  
“Looks as if it’s just you and me, Pomme,” he muttered. Then he grinned again as he looked at Lily’s card.   
  
Reaching across to his bedside cabinet, he pulled out a quill and a sheet of parchment and started to write.  
  
 _‘Lily,  
The scarf is brilliant. I’m wearing it now, even though I’m still in bed. Yes, I’m being very lazy and haven’t got up yet, but am hoping Ben will take the hint and cook me breakfast. He was here when I opened the card and is seriously impressed with your Charms skills.’_  
  
He stopped writing, pondering his next words, knowing what he wanted to say, but not how to write it.   
  
 _‘My birthday last year, I received a cauldron-load of presents, but nothing that meant half as much as your gift. I only wish you’d been here to deliver in person. (Pomme is glaring at me. Have you taught him to read?) .’_  
  
  
Pausing again, he once more watched Lily laughing in the card, her hair in glorious disarray. The Saturday after his birthday last year, Scorpius had faced her in a Quidditch match. He’d lost that day, but in the end had gained so much more.  
  
 _‘I want another present from you,’_  he continued.  _‘Catch that Snitch, and win the game - even though it’s against Slytherin.  
  
All love   
Scorpius  
xxx’_  
  
Rolling up the letter, and giving it a self-conscious kiss, he tied it to Pomme’s leg, then watched as the little bird hopped onto the window sill. “Give her a peck from me,” he called out as the owl flapped its wings and sped away.   
  
“This has just arrived,” Ben said and pointed to an ornate envelope when Scorpius wandered into the kitchen “Is it ... er ... from your parents?” He sounded awkward, but then he didn’t understand the complicated relationship Scorpius had with his father.   
  
Puzzled, Scorpius picked it up. “Doubt it. I’m seeing Mum later. No, it’s from Aunt Andromeda. Teddy must have told her.” Carefully, he slit open the stiff ivory envelope with his finger, and pulled out the rather formal card, and a more informal note inside wishing him a happy birthday and offering to take him for lunch at his convenience. He smiled, promising himself he’d take her up on the offer because he liked his Great-Aunt, who despite being a formidable woman who scared the majority of Potters and Weasleys, he got along with well. It had been his grandfather’s funeral six months previously where he’d first met her, both recognising a kindred rebel spirit, and then it had developed into something firmer, a tie beyond blood between two refugees separated only by the generational divide.   
  
“Is everything okay?” Ben’s voice was tentative.  
  
“Awful,” Scorpius said and let out a long, deep agonised sigh. “But nothing a bacon sandwich and another mug of tea wouldn’t fix.”  
  
Laughing, Ben turned back to the stove. “I’ll cook, you put the kettle on.”  
  
About to protest that it was his birthday and he shouldn’t have to do anything, Scorpius stopped the words in his mouth, not wanting to sound like a brat. After years of being spoilt by family and house-elves alike, he’d initially found it odd adjusting to looking after himself, but after two months he still relished the independence, despite the fact that he was constantly broke. Going out tonight was going to make a dent in his pitiful savings ... and he still had to think about Christmas.   
  
  
He was still brooding on this when someone hammered at their front door, and as Ben was occupied, he trod heavily down the stairs to answer it. Saturday mornings could be punctuated by delivery owls for Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, the shop Scorpius and Ben lived above, and before George arrived in the mornings, they were expected to accept packages. It was hardly a chore - although the time when the wrapping on the live Doxies had split and Ben had been bitten meant it wasn’t altogether a straight-forward errand. Picking up the protective gloves kept by the door, just in case, Scorpius opened the door and the figure with a shock of blond hair fell into him.  
  
“Took your time,” he grumbled and straightened up.  
  
“Dad?” Scorpius said, then did a double-take. The man grinning back at him may have had Malfoy-coloured hair, but it wasn’t his usual colour.   
  
“Er, sorry,” he muttered. “I did the hair in your honour.”  
  
“Teddy, when did you get back?” Flinging open the door, he gestured wildly for Teddy to get inside, delighted to see him.  
  
“Just now,” Teddy replied, and stifled a yawn. “Victoire’s finishing up a shift at St. Mungo’s, so I thought I’d come round before I crash.” He sniffed as they climbed the stairs. “And catch breakfast, perhaps.”   
  
“Ben, put some more bacon on, we’ve got a visitor,” Scorpius yelled then turned back to Teddy. “How was America?”  
  
“Hectic,” Teddy replied and rolled his eyes. “Seriously mad there, but President Mezvinsky won her second term - landslide, too - so the American Wizarding Senate’s happy. They don’t really care who wins, mind you, they just don’t like the uncertainty.” He yawned again. “Sorry, I won’t bore you with it.”  
  
“No, it’s interesting,” Scorpius replied. When he’d first discovered his cousin worked in Muggle Liaison, he’d thought it sounded very dull , but Teddy didn’t only deal with getting drunk wizards out of Muggle jails, but had spent time in Washington and worked in Whitehall. “Any idea where you’ll be sent next?”  
  
Nodding to Ben as he entered the kitchen, Teddy took a seat, and grimaced. “They’re pushing for me to go to China, but it would be long term, and obviously that affects Victoire.” He shrugged as he accepted a mug of tea and took a sip. “We’ll see. Anyway, it is all very boring, and not nearly as exciting as your life from what I’ve been reading.”  
  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Producing a copy of  _The Prophet_  from his pocket, Teddy laid it out on the table. He grinned at Ben, who was serving up three thick bacon sandwiches, oozing with butter. “Your flatmate moves in illustrious circles. Discovering dead bodies one minute, mixing with Muggle celebrities the next, and there’s even a story in the Seer about him going to an exclusive party.”  
  
“What?!” Scorpius grabbed the paper, his eyes focusing first on the front page spread. Staring out at him, her eyes imploring, was Tamara Flint, below the headline:   
  
 **’Secret Heir. Secret Sorrow - the story of the forgotten Flint.**  
  
Lavender Brown, ace reporter, was back with a bang and one huge scoop.  
  
“You and Harry are both mentioned,” Teddy said cheerfully as he leant over Scorpius’ shoulder, “and glowingly. ‘My return to this world was not easy, and I am in eternal debt to Harry Potter and Scorpius Malfoy, for making the path that much smoother.’” Teddy read out in a sing-song falsetto. “How much smoothing did you do, Scorpius? Gods, she loves you.”  
  
“Shut up,” Scorpius mumbled, and willed his cheeks not to redden. He wasn’t bothered about Tamara’s story, in fact he was pleased it had caused a sensation because surely now her attacker would be forced to show their hand, or lay low. What worried him were the inside pages. He flipped though to page five to read the latest on the Sally-Ann Perks case.  
  
 _After two weeks, the Auror department is still no closer to arresting anyone for the murder of the Forbidden Forest victim. Identified,_ by them _, as Sally-Ann Perks - a witch who attended Hogwarts in the same year as Hero Potter - they have decided, in their wisdom, to charge someone on a minor offence on flimsy evidence uncovered in a distinctly unreliable search. Whilst Auror Proudfoot, known to be an Auror of distinct repute, is not entirely without fault for leaving the untrained Scorpius Malfoy (whose father Draco Malfoy was also at school with Miss Perks) in charge at the scene, the buck has to stop squarely with the head of that department, who appears to be giving his ‘clerk’ much more leeway than is legitimate.  
  
Watch this space, but perhaps it is time to call in the Magical Law Enforcement team, and leave the Aurors to chase non-existent Dark wizards._  
  
  
“Cheer up!” Teddy laughed. “Honestly,  _The Prophet’s_  like this all the time. Harry won’t even read it.  
  
“Mhm, my dad won’t be happy though. I mean why bring him into it?”  
  
“Sounds as if they’re trying to cast your net wider,” Teddy said through a mouthful of sandwich that he was wolfing down. He grinned. “Sorry, I’m bloody starving. It’s obvious they love the fact that you’re working with Harry. I bet they’re waiting for your dad to appear and drag you back to the Manor.”  
  
“My dad was the same year, and the same house as your victim,” Ben said reassuringly, then asked, “Who have you charged? Or can’t you tell us?”  
  
“I can tell you,” Scorpius muttered. “ _The Prophet_  could print it if they want, but they won’t.”  
  
“Why?” Ben asked. “And why are they so down on Harry and the department?”  
  
“It’s the editor’s son, Cormac McLaggen. It was his flat I helped search with Proudfoot,” Scorpius replied. He bit into his sandwich, despite not really feeling hungry anymore, and scanned the story again. “Do you think James wrote this?”  
  
“Hope not,” Teddy replied. His face became more serious as he looked at Scorpius and then he took the paper away. “Look, don’t let this ruin your day.  _The Prophet’s_  a scandal sheet, nothing more.”  
  
“What was it they said about the party?” Scorpius said, holding his hand out for the paper.  
  
But Teddy shook his head. “Nothing worth bothering about. Just said you’d gone to Zach Smith’s celebration party, and they were wondering how you managed to get an invite.”  
  
“I went with Ginny,” Scorpius muttered, boot-faced. “Harry didn’t want to go.”  
  
“Scorpius, don’t let this worry you. They’re trying everything to make the department look incompetent, but Harry’s been through all this shit tenfold. He’s not going to be the slightest bit bothered.”  
  
Wishing he could feel as casual about it as Teddy, Scorpius finished his tea, and listened half-heartedly as Teddy began telling them both about his trip. He knew it shouldn’t matter, but the reference to his dad also being at school with Sally-Ann had struck a nerve. His dad had said he didn’t know the girl, and although Scorpius had no reason to doubt him, there was something in the  _Prophet’s_  insinuation that stabbed at him.  
  
His grandfather had tried to cut him out of his will for daring to see Lily Potter, and now all he could of think was their anger and desperation if their son had got a Muggle-born witch pregnant.  
  
“Stop brooding! It’s your birthday,” Teddy snapped at him, and pushed a bottle shaped parcel across the table. “American Flamebourbon - guaranteed to put hairs on your chest.”  
  
“Thanks,” Scorpius muttered, then aware he sounded ungrateful, he fixed a smile on his face. “I mean it. Thanks very much. And ... er ... we’re going out tonight with James and Louis, so would you like to come along?”  
  
Teddy got to his feet, finishing up his tea and picking up the rest of his sandwich. “Why do you think I came back early? Victoire’s on nights, so all that’s stopping me is chronic lack of sleep. If I catch up now, I’ll meet you at ... eightish? Where are you meeting?”  
  
“Leaky,” Ben answered.   
  
“Cool, I’ll see you there, and you ...” he pointed to Scorpius, “you are going to stop worrying and enjoy yourself.”  
  
  
Later that day, as he dressed in his best grey robes, Scorpius remembered Teddy’s words. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have been bothered at all, but he really didn’t want to antagonise his dad. He stared into the mirror, smoothing back his hair in an assimilation of his father’s, then, grinning ruefully, ruffled it up again. He was Scorpius Malfoy, not Draco, whatever anyone assumed.  
  
Scorpius hadn’t been to his parents’ new flat in London. Bought as a bolthole for his mum when she needed to escape the confines of Malfoy Manor and Narcissa’s encroaching disapproval, it was only now fit for visitors as his mum had taken it into her head to redecorate. It was very ‘her’, Scorpius decided as he entered. Pastel shades shot with the occasional vibrant shock of a deeper hue. Designed to make a statement in much the same way as Karis Flint’s house, the decor also said a lot about Astoria. He also knew now why his dad had been desperate to take on deciphering the diary; his boredom threshold for interior decorating was low when he was at work, let alone when he was home twenty-four hours a day.   
  
“You’ve been busy,” he said as he kissed his mum on the cheek.   
  
“Keeping my mind off things,” she said archly, then tucked her arm into his and led him into the lounge. “This place was ghastly, though, so I had to do something.”  
  
“Looks good, Mum,” he replied as he extricated himself from her grip and sat on one end of a plush pale blue silk sofa. “How are you?”  
  
“Oh. We’re fine,” she said, “and not at all important. You, however, are the birthday boy and I haven’t seen you for ages, so sit there, let Truckle bring you some tea, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.”  
  
The house-elf, Truckle, bustled in with a tray of tea and a large plate piled high with biscuits and cakes. He grinned at his mum, knowing she too was thinking about the days when he’d been at home for his birthday and Truckle had baked enough cakes to feed the Ministry.   
  
“Happy Birthday, Master Scorpius,” she wheezed and placed the plate very carefully in front of him before pouring him a cup of tea. Then stepping back, she smoothed out the skirt of her dress (Truckle had been freed by his mum two years ago but hadn’t left), and bobbed a curtsey to him. “Truckle is baking special apple turnovers for the master, and also his young lady if she is wantin’ them.”  
  
“Er ...” Scorpius gulped a little of his tea, aware his mum was watching with a certain ‘look’ on her face. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Lily - she’d only met her once and not under the best circumstances - but she hadn’t appreciated the ructions that the relationship had caused. “She’d like that, Truckle,” he finished lamely.   
  
“Sending her food treats? How thoughtful,” Astoria said neutrally. Then she smiled and moved closer to him on the sofa. “Come on darling, tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself. How’s the flat, and living with the Macmillan boy?”  
  
“It’s good. Ben’s easy to live with, even made me breakfast this morning. Bloody untidy though ...” he started to say, but just then his dad strode in the room.  
  
“Not as easy as living with a house-elf, then!” he drawled. “This Ben is a Macmillan, isn’t he?” Scorpius nodded. “Mmm, bet he’s scintillating to live with. His father was  _such_  an exciting boy at school.”  
  
“Not all sons are like their fathers,” Scorpius snapped. The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. Annoyed with his dad, Scorpius bit into one of Truckles apple-turnovers, letting the pastry dissolve on his tongue as he tried to think of an adequate response.   
  
“And work?” his mum asked with the tone of one intent on covering up gaps. “Must have been very scary discovering that body. I would have been terrified. How are things now?”  
  
Turning to her and away from his dad, who’d pulled up an armchair opposite and was reading the paper, Scorpius proceeded to tell her about that day in the forest. “It wasn’t pretty, but, well, I don’t know what happened, but once it was uncovered, I just seemed to know what to do.”  
  
“Wasn’t it horrible to look at though?” Astoria shuddered and put her teacup down as she leant forwards eager to hear more. “All rotting flesh and popping eyes -”  
  
  
“Er, no, clean bones, actually,” he stated. Then grinned as his mum’s face fell. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mum, but I didn’t uncover a zombie sect.” Pausing as he finished off the turnover, he cast a quick glance at his dad who was still reading the paper, then continued, “It’s been a very busy couple of weeks, but Harry’s been great. He’s letting me take part in the investigation, and showing me all the sides of the Auror department. I’ve been sitting in on interviews, following up leads -”  
  
“Cocking up searches if this rag’s to be believed,” Draco interrupted. “What was ‘Hero’ Potter thinking? Oh, and what is this about attending Smith’s party? Bored with Potter’s daughter already?”  
  
“What the -”  
  
“Ah, my mistake.” Draco folded up  _The Prophet_ , his thumbnail working the creases. “It says here you spent most of the time with Oliver Wood.”  
  
“I went with Ginny!” Scorpius protested. “Harry didn’t want to go, so she asked me. Anyway, what’s the problem with me going to a party?”  
  
“Absolutely nothing!” Draco replied. “But the company you’re keeping these days seems designed to only further annoy us and upset your grandmother. Good Godric, have you seen what they’re implying about you?”  
  
“No, I didn’t read it,” Scorpius retorted. “Teddy hinted this morning but told me it was all rubbish, so I didn’t bother.”  
  
“How very considerate of him,” Draco said. Hearing the doorbell ring, he got to his feet, throwing the newspaper onto the unlit fire. “Stupid though. I always find it a good idea to stay informed about the things people are saying about me.”  
  
“What is your- OW!” Scorpius stopped his protest when his mum squashed his foot with her heel.  
  
“Don’t light that fire, darling,” she called out to Draco. “I haven’t read Lavender’s story yet. Did I tell you I was at school with Tamara Flint?”  
  
“About fourteen bloody times,” Draco muttered, but he didn’t light the fire before he left the room.  
  
“Why did you stamp on me?” Scorpius complained. “I just want to know what his bloody problem is? Gods, can’t he even pretend to be interested in my life on my birthday?”  
  
“Because for someone who did so well at school, you can be remarkably stupid at reading your father. Why do you think he’s acting like that?”  
  
He shrugged. “No idea. He’s obviously pissed off with me for some reason. Is this still about Lily? Because if it is then I might as well just go now.”  
  
“No, it’s about you being dense!” she exclaimed. Then pausing for breath, his mum levitated the newspaper and shook out the ashes in the grate before settling back to read the story.   
  
“How am I dense?” he hissed.   
  
There was a noise in the hallway, but his mum, instead of seeing who it was, fixed her steely gaze on him. “All you have talked about since you got here, Scorpius, is how wonderful Potter is. How do you think that makes your father feel? Not to mention that _The Prophet_  can’t seem to stop mentioning you and Potter in the same sentence...” Furiously, she flipped through the paper until she came to The Seer. “Oh, and look, now they’re linking you with either Zacharias Smith or Oliver Wood. Really, Scorpius, can’t you-”  
  
Angrily he got to his feet, pushing away her restraining arm, and started to walk to the door. “You seriously believe that crap!” he exclaimed.   
  
“No, of course not!” she retorted. “But if you can’t understand why your father is annoyed at this continual raking over of our family problems, and now this speculation over your ‘friendship’ with not only Potter but now Oliver Wood, then -”  
  
“At least Wood’s a pure-blood,” joked someone from the door. “Have to admit, Tori, Narcissa can’t have any complaints on that front.”  
  
“DAPHNE!” Astoria positively squealed with delight at seeing her sister. “When did you return?”  
  
“Yesterday afternoon,” Daphne replied, yawning. “Sorry, I would have come over sooner but I was exhausted, and thought it would be more fun to surprise you.” She stepped into the room, holding out her hands to Scorpius and enveloped him in a hug. “Happy Birthday, Scorpius.” Then as he returned her hug, she whispered, “Aunt Daphne to the rescue. Your dad looks as if he’s about to bite the head off a Kneazle.”  
  
“My fault,” he mumbled. “Again.”  
  
With Daphne Greengrass in the room, the atmosphere immediately lightened. It wasn’t that the tension completely disappeared, but because she refused to acknowledge any disagreements, and breezily began telling Astoria all about her recent trip, the mood definitely dissipated. Scorpius resumed drinking his tea, helped himself to a biscuit and mulled over his mum’s words. He was puzzled because, from what she’d said, it sounded as if his dad was ...  _jealous._  The thought was so preposterous that he couldn’t stop a laugh bubbling up from inside, but at an exasperated frown from his dad as he rejoined them, he hurriedly turned it into a cough.   
  
“As I was saying before you appeared, Daphne,” his mum began and waved the newspaper in the air. “I was at school with Tamara Flint. I had no idea she was Jonah’s daughter.”  
  
“I don’t think anyone did,” Daphne replied, and set her teacup down on the table. “At least Tabitha only talked about her as a half-sister. You knew Marcus quite well in those days, didn’t you, Draco?”  
  
“What?” Draco stopped staring at the floor, and looked across the room at the three of them. “I played Quidditch with him. We hardly had girly chats in the changing room about his brother’s love life. Having to listen to Goyle complaining about his Quidditch robes ‘shrinking’ was enough to put us off even thinking about sex.”  
  
This time Scorpius couldn’t stop the laugh and was heartened to see a glimmer of a smile on his dad’s lips, as well as hear a relieved sigh from his mum.   
  
“So how are you involved in all this?” Daphne asked him. “Only Tamara is singing your praises here. Or is that Lavender’s ‘purple’ prose?”  
  
“Uh ...” He swallowed his biscuit before continuing, giving himself time to think. “She was reported missing, so we thought she might be the body in the Forbidden Forest. Then Jonah spilt the beans.”  
  
“Bet Karis wasn’t pleased about that,” Daphne remarked. “Surprised Jonah’s still around to tell the tale. She’s got enough experience, after all.”  
  
“Lavender will have to watch herself,” Astoria agreed. “Karis won’t be at all happy with any of this. Tamara must be in line for a fortune!”  
  
“Which won’t go down well with Marcus,” Daphne continued. “I really must look up Tabitha and see what she’s got to say about it all.”  
  
Catching his dad looking at him, Scorpius raised his eyebrows and was rewarded as his dad smirked. Listening to the two sisters gossiping was something they’d always put up with in the past, and it seemed, at that moment, that not everything had changed between them. Clearing his throat, Scorpius addressed his dad.   
  
“It was quite funny when we went to interview Jonah, Dad. The housekeeper answered the door. Enormous witch with really beefy arms.” He chuckled. “It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Harry taken aback. She knew who he was and everything. He looked terrified.”  
  
“Really?” Draco grinned back. “What is this paragon’s name? I must send her flowers.”  
  
Scorpius frowned, trying to think. She’d been big and burly, like a bull ... “Bulstrode, that was it. Looked like she wrestled dragons for a living, not bread dough.”  
  
“Millie Bulstrode?” Daphne interrupted. “Wow, that’s a bit of a comedown.”  
  
His mum clearly didn’t know what was going on, but as Scorpius looked from his aunt to his dad, he could see this information had intrigued them both.   
  
“Why?” he asked.   
  
“Millie was a bright girl at Hogwarts. Didn’t she take Potions with you, Draco?” His dad nodded. “I suppose I just never saw her as a cook. And working for the Flints - that  _must_ be awkward.”  
  
“She was never going to marry,” Draco said. “Unless she Imperiused the poor wizard. “ He lowered his voice and leaned across to Scorpius. “Pig-ugly was old Millicent.”  
  
“Millie did all right on the boyfriend front,” Daphne replied archly. “You were just too preoccupied with that hag Pansy to notice! And looks really aren’t everything.”  
  
“They are when you’re at school,” Draco replied in undertone to Scorpius, adding in a louder voice, “So Potter was scared of her, was he?”  
  
“Alarmed,” Scorpius said, and grinned back at his dad whose earlier bad mood had evaporated. “How’s the work going with the diary?”  
  
“Slowly,” his dad replied, adding with what seemed like a twinge of uncertainty, “You can come and see if you’d like. There’s nothing much Potter will be interested in, but ... well ... if you’d like to take a look -”  
  
He didn’t need his mum’s prodding, answering ‘yes’ before she’d even hissed the word in his ear. It wasn’t just because this was relevant for the case but because he did genuinely find his dad’s work fascinating.  
  
His dad had set aside a small room adjoining the lounge as a study. There weren’t a great deal of books in there; the shelves were sparse with neither photographs or ornaments adorning them. Unlike the rest of the flat, the decor here was aggressively masculine - or rather very Slytherin, with green and white striped wallpaper, and heavy dark green curtains. Switching on the lamp with a flick of his wand, Draco paused on the threshold of the room, muttering to Scorpius to stay back.   
  
Heeding his dad, Scorpius watched intently as his father walked to the desk in the corner and opened up a package in its centre. Then he waved his wand in two concentric circles, emitting a light blue cascade of dust. Crouching down, so the book was at his eyelevel, his dad waited for the dust to settle, then apparently satisfied called for Scorpius to join him.  
  
“What was all that for?” Scorpius asked. “I thought you’d dismantled the curse in Harry’s office.”  
  
Draco shook his head. “That was the preliminary to open the damn thing up. There are several curses attached to this diary.”  
  
“Sally-Ann wasn’t supposed to be a particularly bright witch according to Madam Sprout. How would she have coped with something this heavily cursed?”  
  
“She didn’t cast the Charms surrounding it,” Draco murmured, his eyes still watching as the diary began to creak open. “She probably bought it from Borgin and Burkes, and as the owner, she’d have been protected from anything nasty.”   
  
“So, did she say much about McLaggen?”  
  
“Not yet. She wrote something about wanting a boyfriend, but didn’t specify except that she liked Quidditch players - probably thought they were cool,” Draco replied. He stood up and beckoned to Scorpius to come closer. “The diary starts from the beginning of the school year, so she’s moaning about Umbridge.” Glancing across at Scorpius, he said, “You know who Umbridge is, yes?”  
  
“Uh, yeah. Didn’t she become Headmistress for a while and terrorise the pupils?”  
  
“Not if she liked you,” his dad said. “Extremely stupid woman who was easy to manipulate with a bit of flattery. Also hideously ugly. I doubt even your mum and aunt could make a case for her being beautiful on the inside, or whatever crap they’re spouting about Bulstrode.” He started to laugh and Scorpius joined in. His dad had a biting sense of humour, sometimes cruel, but it never failed to make Scorpius smile.  
  
“You were saying about Umbridge?”  
  
“Oh, yes. Well, Perks moans about her for a while, and mentions the other girls in her dormitory complaining. It’s interesting, though ...”  
  
“What is?”  
  
“Well, around that time, Potter formed this pathetic group called Dumbledore’s Army. He apparently thought he was good enough to teach Defence against the Dark Arts, and a lot of the others were deluded enough to join. She didn’t though.”  
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Not sure she was asked,” Draco said thoughtfully. “It’s odd because whenever I think about the Hufflepuffs at school - which I try not to do unless it’s absolutely necessary - they seemed like such a close bunch. But your victim didn’t seem to be close to anyone.”   
  
“Do you remember anything about her? Or any of the Hufflepuffs?” He held his breath, waiting for the response.   
  
Draco shrugged, and straightening up, started to seal the diary again. “We didn’t have any lessons with them until NEWT year. Macmillan and Abbot - that’s Longbottom’s wife - were prefects, so I knew them a little better. Smith played Quidditch, pretty well as it turned out. But your victim ... I couldn’t even place her when I saw her picture in the paper.”  
  
“What about Cormac McLaggen?”  
  
“From school I remember him as a big arrogant Gryffindor. Complete idiot who was only marginally worse in goal than Weasley. I’ve met him a few times since; he’s still an idiot,” Draco said dismissively. Then he narrowed his eyes and glanced sideways at Scorpius. “Is it McLaggen you’ve arrested? Is that why  _The Prophet’s_  out to get you?”  
  
“Yeah. It was his flat we searched,” Scorpius admitted.   
  
“But not for murder?” Draco queried.  
  
“Nope. We found her wand there in his trunk, and he won’t tell us how it could have got there. Harry thinks that by holding him, he’ll give up the name of the person he’s sleeping with.”  
  
Draco gave a sarcastic snort. “McLaggen’s too Gryffindor to give up the name of a ‘lady’ to save his skin. She’s probably married ...” As he trailed off, his eyes lit up with mischief. “No chance he’s resumed things with Granger, I suppose.”  
  
“Dad!” Scorpius protested, but to his horror he couldn’t stop himself from grinning back. With difficulty, he pulled his face straight. “I very much doubt it. Hermione’s his advocate and I don’t think she’d let him cover for her.”  
  
“Mmm, and far too loyal to that weasel. Ah well, can’t have everything in life,” Draco said, mock-sadly. And then he paused. Placing his hand on Scorpius’ shoulder, he stared straight into his eyes, all mockery gone. “We should get back to your mum because she’s itching to hand over your present, but first I wanted to give you something.”  
  
Walking to the other side of his desk, he pulled out a small envelope and handed it over. “It’s not very imaginative, I’m afraid. That sort of thing is best left to your mother, but I hope you’ll find it useful.”  
  
Scorpius ripped open the envelope and gasped. In his hand was a Gringotts’ draft for one thousand Galleons. “Dad ... that’s incredible... so generous ... just ... uh ....”  
  
  
“Potter pays you a pittance,” he mumbled in reply. “And you’re starting to look as scruffy as Mundungus Fletcher. Which reminds me ...” He frowned, taking in Scorpius’ attire. Although they were his best robes, Scorpius was aware that they looked worn and needed the odd patch here and there. “Now that I’m no longer working,” Draco continued, “I have a wardrobe full of robes that will never see the light of day. You might as well take them off my hands.”  
  
  
“Draco, Scorpius, what are you both up to?” Astoria called. “Daphne can’t stay all afternoon and I want to cut the cake.”  
  
“And that’s our cue to join them,” Draco whispered. “Now, not a word to your mother about the money. She’ll think I’ve gone soft and demand more money so she can redecorate ... again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight respite from the mysteries there, but necessary . . .


	11. Confrontation

The bar was dark. Or maybe it was just the floor that Scorpius found himself face down on that was dark. He wasn’t sure now; in truth, he wasn’t sure of anything much except that on the way back from the toilets, he’d stumbled over and was now staring at the floorboards. Somewhere above, someone was shouting at him, and he felt a foot nudging his stomach, exhorting him to get up. Then an arm reached down, and a more reasoned voice began apologising.  
  
“Sorry, it’s his birthday and he’s been celebrating.”  
  
“No, no, ‘m fine,” Scorpius said and gazed blearily at Teddy. “Don’t need any help. S’all good.”  
  
  
Grinning at him, Teddy steered Scorpius back to their table in the corner. “Perhaps you should stick to juice from now on.”  
  
“Nooooo, beer!” Scorpius protested. “S’my birthday, ‘n I can do anything I want on my birthday.”  
  
“That so?” Teddy said.  
  
Scorpius nodded, then kept nodding, then stopped because the room was becoming even swimmier. “Malfoy thing. Akshully, it might be more of a Greengrash - uh - Greengrass thing. My mum ushed to spoil me-” He stopped speaking and frowned. “No, not Mum, Grandma ushed to spoil me, and Granddad, ‘n they shaid I could do anything I wanted on my birthday, so must be a Malfoy thing.”  
  
“So what would you like to do?”  
  
Scorpius thought for a moment, his head on one side. Then, deciding it was too much effort, he rested his chin on his hands and peered across at Teddy through his fringe. “I want to Apparate.”  
  
“Uh, not a good idea in your state,” Teddy replied. “I can take you somewhere, if you want.”  
  
Just then, Louis and Ben returned from the bar with two jugs of beer and five baskets of chips. Scorpius reached out to fill up his glass, but Teddy placed a hand on his arm.   
  
“Ease up. Have some food and then I’ll take you where you want to go.”  
  
“No, can’t be done,” Scorpius said and sighed deeply. “Don’t think even you could get me there.”  
  
“You leaving?” Louis asked. “Night’s young, Scorpius, and there’s a lot more beer to be drunk.”  
  
“I would jusht like to be somewhere else,” Scorpius tried to explain, “but as I was trying to shay to your - I mean my cousin, I don’t think it’sh possible.” He closed one eye, wondering if the room would stop spinning. “Truckle could help.”  
  
Ben, tucking into the chips, sat down heavily next to him. Like Scorpius, he hadn’t paced himself and was slurring his words, but being a bigger frame, he seemed to be far more in control and hadn’t fallen over yet. “You can’t go there. S’not allowed, and you know that.” He turned to the others, and Scorpius could hear the laugh in his voice as he explained. “He wants to go to Hogwarts. Cherchez la - uh - what’s the word, Louis?”  
  
“Femme,” Louis replied, and chuckled. “Cherchez la femme, or in Scorpius’ case: Lis de tigre.”  
  
“Huh?”   
  
“Tiger-Lily,” Louis declared briskly. “Sadly, in the absence of my cousin, you’re going to have to make do with us.”  
  
“But,” Scorpius said plaintively. “I don’t want to shag - uh - snog you.” As his elbow slipped off the table, Scorpius slumped back in the chair and squinted at Teddy. “Did I tell you she caught the Snitch and they beat Slytherin?”  
  
“Only about twelve times,” Teddy replied. He yawned. “I think I’m going to have to call it a night. This time zone is messing with my sleep patterns. Come on, Scorpius, I’ll get you back to your flat.”  
  
“’Kay,” Scorpius mumbled. “But I need to say goodbye to James, ‘cause this was his idea and it’s been a great night.” He looked around the bar, over the heads of the other customers and frowned. “Where is he anyway?”  
  
“Saw one of Ginny’s old team mates and went over to say hello. There’s quite a few of the Quidditch crowd in tonight,” Teddy said, and standing up, he hauled Scorpius to his feet. “Don’t worry; these guys will say goodbye for you.”  
  
“But I owe him a drink,” Scorpius said. “In fact, I owe you all drinks, don’t I? I didn’t buy a round.”  
  
“Nope, it’s all taken care of,” Teddy said. “Come on, let’s go.”  
  
“I have money,” Scorpius called out as he looked back over his shoulder. “Lots.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, don’t let the whole world know,” Teddy warned and shifted his arm to Scorpius’ waist. “Look, James is over there.”  
  
“Who’s he talking to?” Scorpius demanded as he peered across to James. “Godric, has Potter pulled? S’not fair. It’s s’posed to be my birthday ‘n I’m the only one not allowed to see my girlfriend. Rose is always around our place, you’re seeing yours later - I mean wife - you don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”  
  
  
“No, I don’t,” Teddy muttered. “One witch is more than enough for me. You’ll see Lily soon. She’ll be back for Christmas.”  
  
“Mmm, I know, but it’s a bloody long time.” He stumbled a little, using a chair to steady himself, and when he looked up again, he saw James’s companion looking directly at him. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t bring her name to mind. “Who is that girl he’s with? Does she play Quidditch?”  
  
Teddy shrugged. “No idea. Maybe someone he got talking to just now.”  
  
Scorpius nodded. “Prob’ly. What about Louis?”  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“Does he have a girlfriend?”  
  
“Probably. Possibly. No idea,” Teddy replied, punctuating each word with a tug on Scorpius’ arm. “Let’s go before you collapse again.”  
  
“I don’t want to,” Scorpius moaned, but as the air hit him, Diagon Alley span before his eyes. “I need to go home, don’t I?”  
  
“Mmm, I think you’ve celebrated enough for today.”   
  
“You’re no fun,” grumbled Scorpius, “but you’re prob’ly right. I shall go home and ...” He straightened up and thought carefully. “I shall write a letter to Lily. She caught the Snitch, you know.”  
  
He heard Teddy sigh. “Yes, Scorpius, I know.”  
  
  
“You can go,” Scorpius babbled and began to flap at Teddy with his hand. “I don’t need a chape - chapro - chopper ...”  
  
“Chaperone,” Teddy filled in. He laughed, but it turned into a yawn that he tried to cover with his hand. “You’ve got your keys?”  
  
Scorpius jingled his pocket and nodded obediently. “See you around, Teddy. Thank you.”  
  
Huddling in his cloak, as a faint precipitation started to descend, Scorpius trudged home, meandering across the cobbled streets. He paused under the street lamp, watching the moon as it struggled to appear from behind the clouds, and wound the scarf Lily had knitted him further around his neck. He’d enjoyed the night, for despite his misgivings about spending time with James and letting something else slip, Lily’s brother had been remarkably reticent and hadn’t tried to pry any more information out about the case. Wondering if James’s change of attitude was due to being distracted by something else, he mused over the witch in the pub. She had been familiar, but he didn’t think he knew her from Hogwarts. He wracked his brain, willing the elusive fragment telling him to think into place, but she remained nameless. With a sigh, he set off again, slipping on the now wet pavement, only staying on his feet, when he bumped into a lone figure walking in the opposite direction.  
  
Trying to apologise and explain that he wasn’t always this drunk but he’d been celebrating, Scorpius felt the man pull him closer. In horror, he remembered that he’d shouted to the pub that he had money on him, so he gripped his wand, intent on firing off something quick and painful to the would be mugger. But then the man dropped his hands, and whatever his intention had been, he appeared to have changed his mind.  
  
“Watch yourself, Malfoy,” he muttered, then taking a sidestep Apparated into the night.  
  
  
It was only the next morning, when his head was pounding, that he remembered the man had known exactly who he was.   
  
Sitting in the kitchen, trying to decide whether food was a good idea or not, he pondered the man that he’d bumped into last night. He didn’t think he’d known him, but then he knew he’d been pissed so he could have bumped into Harry and not realised. “Ben, if you were going to rob someone, what would stop you?”   
  
Ben looked up, bleary eyed over his cup of black coffee. “I wouldn’t rob anyone, unless they had a hangover potion, then -” He blinked. “Why are you asking? Is it to do with the case?”  
  
Shaking his head, Scorpius poured himself more coffee, adding cream this time, and told Ben about the man.   
  
“You sure he wasn’t just helping you up?”  
  
“No, he pulled me close and by the lapels. I thought he was after my moneybag, but it’s still there.”  
  
“All of it?” Ben asked. “Only some of these pick-pockets can open moneybags really easily. Maybe he took a dip, and left when he’d grabbed a handful.”  
  
Reaching across to where he’d left his cloak, (such had been his state last night that he hadn’t hung it on the coat stand as he normally did) Scorpius pulled out his money bag, opened it and counted the Galleons.   
  
“Nothing’s missing.” Shrugging he returned to his coffee. “He recognised me. Maybe that’s why he stopped. Though I’d have thought it was more of a reason to carry on.”  
  
“You’re flush with cash at the moment,” Ben remarked. “Harry give you a pay rise?”  
  
“Oh ... er ... no,” Scorpius mumbled, thinking quickly. His dad hadn’t exactly sworn him to secrecy over the bank draught, but he knew he wanted him to be discreet. “I had some savings and took most of it out yesterday. I should be giving you some of this for last night.”  
  
Ben shook his head. “Keep it. It was your birthday and I think Teddy paid for most of the drink. He’s a great bloke, isn’t he?”  
  
“The best,” Scorpius muttered and, picking up his cloak, hung it properly on the coat stand.   
  
“You’ve dropped something,” Ben said. He picked up a piece of creased parchment from the floor, turning it over in his hands. “OH! I ... uh ... don’t think I should be reading this.”  
  
“Why? What is it?” Taking the paper from Ben’s fingers, Scorpius frowned. “ _’McLaggen has more than one secret. You need to keep digging’_ ,” he read. “Where the hell did this come from?”  
  
  
“Could have been anyone in the bar last night,” Ben said, “but maybe your pickpocket was doing you a favour.”  
  
“Wish he’d been a bit more specific,” Scorpius muttered. He yawned, stretching out his arms and wishing he could go straight back to bed. But he knew he had to speak to Harry and work out whether this was a lead or a dead end.  
  


***

  
  
“You don’t remember who he was, or anything about him, then?” Harry asked as he handed Scorpius a mug of tea.   
  
“Sorry, it was dark, and he had his hood up.”  
  
He gestured towards the lounge, seemingly not bothered at all that Scorpius was disturbing his Sunday afternoon at home.   
  
  
“And from the look of you now, you were coming back from the pub.” Banishing an uneven stack of files from the sofa to the corner of the room, he gestured for Scorpius to sit down.   
  
“Er ... yeah, I had a few with Ben, Louis, Teddy and James,” Scorpius said defensively. “It’s possible it was someone in the pub, but it was packed, so I couldn’t really tell you who was there. Sorry.”  
  
“Scorpius, you don’t have to apologise. You are allowed a life outside this office, you know.” He smiled, a touch ruefully. “Anyway, I’m guessing the man knew you were worse the wear for drink and that’s why he approached you.”  
  
Harry sat down and read the note again.  
  
“It’s not much to go on,” Scorpius mumbled, “but I thought you should see it straight away. And ... uh ... sorry, Ben saw it, too, but I don’t think he’ll say anything.”  
  
“It’s fine. As you said, this note doesn’t tell us much at all, although it suggests that someone out there doesn’t like McLaggen.” He chuckled to himself. “Doesn’t narrow the field much. Although ... he must know it’s McLaggen we’ve arrested, which  _is_  interesting.”  
  
Scorpius nodded in agreement. “Because  _The Prophet_ hasn’t reported that,” he stated.   
  
“Exactly, and while it isn’t a secret, it’s also not common knowledge.” He sipped at his tea, pondering the note again before glancing up at Scorpius. “What can you remember about the man?”  
  
Putting his mug down on the floor, Scorpius cast his mind back to the night before. But it had been dark, and wet, and he’d been preoccupied. “Sorry, he was taller than me, but that’s about all I can remember. I only saw his hands and ... oh!” Scorpius half smiled at his recollection. “Long fingers and neat nails.”  
  
“So not your usual sneak thief at all. Okay, well if you can’t remember who was in the pub, maybe the others will. Although I’d rather not ask James unless I have to.” Harry paused, taking a sip of his drink. “What was he like last night?”  
  
“Uh, didn’t ask me anything about the case, if that’s what you mean.”  
  
“I meant his mood,” Harry replied, and carefully placed his cup on the table. “I doubt he was happy about Lavender’s scoop.”  
  
Thinking back, Scorpius only remembered James making a passing reference to the Tamara Flint story, asking if there was anything else in it. “He fished a little bit about Tamara’s mother, but actually didn’t say much apart from a sarky comment that it was Lavender’s type of story.”  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows but said no more, instead he returned to the topic of the mystery man. “What’s interesting is that he felt he had to do this surreptitiously. He knew you, knew that you’re working on this case, and he could easily have come into the office with any information. But he decided to keep himself in the shadows.”  
  
“Do you really think he knows something?”  
  
“Not sure. He might just be someone with a grudge against McLaggen.”  
  
“The other woman’s husband?” Scorpius suggested, remembering his dad’s snide suspicion. “Cherchez-la-femme.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
Scorpius grinned. “Sorry, it was something I remember Louis saying last night. But McLaggen was definitely covering up for someone.”  
  
“Agreed.” Harry finished the rest of his coffee, then got to his feet, taking both his and Scorpius’ mugs to the kitchen. “Ginny might have an idea who he’s seeing, but unfortunately she’s gone abroad to cover the England tour.”  
  
“What about Lavender?” Scorpius suggested.   
  
“I already asked her. She says he chats up any witch he comes across, but she has no idea if he’s actually seeing anyone. ‘Course she’s not been in the office regularly since she’s had the baby.”  
  
Casting his mind back to the party, Scorpius could only agree with Lavender’s assessment. McLaggen had been loud and very obviously chatting up the young witches attending the party. It could have been a cover up, or an attempt to make someone jealous, but the only married women there had been Ginny and Angelina. Scorpius bit his lip, wondering what Harry would do if Scorpius voiced his thoughts. Then he laughed to himself. Ginny and Angelina had made no secret of their disdain for both McLaggen and Davies. And they weren’t  _that_  good at acting.   
  
“The other bloody annoying thing is that we don’t have anything else to hold McLaggen on, so unless we find fresh evidence, we’ll have to release him tomorrow,” Harry called out.  
  
“Are you going to put a tail on him?” Scorpius asked as he hurried after him.  
  
Harry nodded. “You’re right, he’s holding something back.”   
  
There was a pause in the conversation. As Harry rinsed out the mugs and left them to drain on the side, Scorpius stood awkwardly by the table, wondering if he should leave. He stifled a yawn; all he wanted to do was slink back to bed, but as Harry had papers spread all over the desk, it was clear he’d brought work home with him. The Auror department had never been nine-to-five, and Scorpius knew that.  
  
“Anyway, I shouldn’t keep you,” Harry said, and turning around, he laughed. “Thanks for coming over, but you look shattered and I expect you want to slope off back to bed.”  
  
“Er, yeah, wouldn’t mind,” Scorpius muttered and grinned sheepishly.   
  
“See you tomorrow morning, eight o’clock sharp. We’ll review what we have and see if there’s any way we can hold McLaggen for longer.” He twitched another smile at Scorpius. “You might want to practise your Shield Charms as well.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because after Lavender’s story, I think we can expect a visit from the Flints, don’t you?”  
  


***

  
  
Whether Harry had Seer blood, Scorpius didn’t know, but he was certainly right about the Flints. Jonah, Karis,  _and_  Marcus appeared at the department demanding to see ‘Potter’ shortly after nine o’clock. The first two had ignored him, but Marcus - a friend of his father’s - had lingered by his desk, waiting for Scorpius to look up, before fixing him with a glare. Scorpius snorted; if Marcus thought he could intimidate him, he was sadly misguided. He’d not only known him since birth as a drinking partner of his dad’s, but in the last few months of his parents’ marriage, Davey Flint had bitterly regaled the Slytherin common room with tales of his father’s infidelity.   
  
“Can I help you, Marcus?” he asked lightly.  
  
“We want to see Potter!”  
  
“He’s rather busy at the moment,” Scorpius tried to explain. But Karis Flint, refusing to listen, had already opened the door to Harry’s office.  
  
“We shall wait,” she declared, and fixed her dark black eyes on him. “Coffee for three will be required.”  
  
  
“Sorry, Madam Flint, but I’m not a waiter. Harry is currently unavailable, but I shall tell him you called, and he will call on you at your convenience,” Scorpius replied. Proud of the fact that he’d kept his voice steady, he was grateful that not only was he wearing a set of his dad’s robes, so looked smarter than usual, but that his hands weren’t visible behind the desk because they were trembling. Marcus and Jonah Flint didn’t scare him in the slightest, but Karis, her hackles now fully raised, was another matter entirely.   
  
“I am not being fobbed off by Potter’s clerk!” she decided imperiously. “We shall wait, and _you_  will tell him that we are here.”  
  
“I’m afraid you can’t wait in Harry’s office by yourselves,” Scorpius said politely as he rose from his desk. He pointed his wand at some chairs, placing them around a small table in the corner, “But if you would like to take a seat, he shouldn’t be much longer.”  
  
He swallowed, waiting for Karis’ wrath, or Jonah’s rage that he wasn’t immediately jumping around to help them, but instead, Karis gave a curt nod, and walked to the chairs, standing whilst Jonah pulled it away from the wall for her. None of them talked. Marcus tried but was quelled with a look from Karis, who kept her eyes fixed on Scorpius.  
  
“Are you going to stay there? Or are you going to tell Potter we’re here?” she demanded.  
  
“Madam Flint, I can’t leave the office unattended,” Scorpius replied in a placatory tone. Holding a paper aeroplane, he Charmed it with precision through the open door. “I have written him a message, explaining that you’re here, so I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can.”  
  
To Scorpius’s gratitude, Harry returned to the office as soon as he received the note. Raising his eyebrows at Scorpius, he quickly showed the three Flints into his office and invited Scorpius to join them.  
  
“Do you have an explanation for this?” Karis demanded, slamming  _The Prophet_  on the desk.   
  
“I suggest you speak to your step-daughter about that,” Harry replied, keeping his face straight. “Or your daughter-in-law.”  
  
“But you swore this wouldn’t get out!” Jonah said. “Do you have any idea what this story has done for my reputation? The things she says about me ... about all of us. It makes me out to be some kind of prejudiced old monster!”  
  
  
Harry didn’t reply, but turned his head away, focusing for the first time on Marcus who had not taken a seat but was standing by the door. “I was told you were abroad, Mr Flint.”  
  
“I came back to support my brother,” Marcus stated, smiling sympathetically at Jonah. “I arrived home late last night. Karis and Jonah were in bed, but the housekeeper let me in.”  
  
“Madam Bulstrode lives in, does she?” Harry asked.  
  
“Yes,” Karis said drily. “That’s why she’s called a housekeeper. In a household like ours, we need a servant on hand at all times.” Her eyes strayed to Scorpius then back to Harry. “Don’t worry, we pay her well enough.  _We_  don’t have a house-elf.”  
  
Harry ignored the comment. “Where abroad have you been, Marcus?”  
  
“I was travelling across Europe for work.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
Marcus licked his lips. A muscle was going in his cheek as if he resented the question, which, Scorpius thought, he probably did. The Flints were an old family. An old family living in an impressive house but with a waning family fortune, Jonah had married a rich wife, but Marcus, with one divorce under his belt, had to work for a living.   
  
“I am in charge of the distribution department of specialised merchandise across Europe,” he replied and handed over a business card.  
  
“I’d like to see your itinerary,” Harry replied mildly.  
  
“Why? What possible difference can it make to you which country I was in?” Marcus demanded. Stopping towards his brother, he placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of solidarity underlined by the words, “Jonah, this man is prevaricating. Potter should be issuing an apology and paying damages for the leak that must have come from this department.”  
  
“It was Tamara’s decision to speak to Lavender,” Harry said, his voice barely above a murmur. “I admit she took advice from my department, but the situation for her had become untenable - dangerous, even - and we-”  
  
“Dangerous! What are you on about, Potter?” Jonah blustered. “The only person in danger here is me. The damage to my reputation cannot be overstated.”  
  
“He’s talking crap to cover his arse!” Marcus said viciously. “What story are you going to spin for us now, Potter? Come on, it will be interesting and no doubt utterly defamatory against the Flints - yet again. I want to know just why you were digging into our family history in the first place. Utterly uncalled for and something I shall insist Jonah takes up with -”  
  
“Be quiet, Marcus!” rapped Karis. “Potter is trying to tell us something important.”  
  
Harry, after a brief nod toward Karis leant across his desk, taking in all three of the Flints. Scorpius noticed that only Karis held his gaze, and he wondered if she knew what he was about to say, or if her curiosity proved her innocence.  
  
“Jonah, your daughter has survived three attempts on her life, in recent days. So ...” He stopped speaking, and gestured to Scorpius. “I would like the three of you to tell my assistant just where you have been since we last visited you. Marcus, you will hand over your itinerary, or I will believe you have something to hide. Is that clear?”  
  
“Someone is trying to kill her?” Jonah stared at Harry, his mouth gaping open. “Are you sure?”  
  
“’Course he isn’t,” Marcus scoffed, and started to laugh. “It’ll be Tammy being dramatic all over again. You know what she was like as a child. This is another tantrum to gain attention.”  
  
“One of my Aurors is in St Mungo’s having taken a hex to the head when she was defending Miss Flint,” Harry said sharply. “The threats are being taken very seriously indeed.”  
  
“But why?” Jonah asked.   
  
“She’s your heir,” Harry said. He shot Scorpius a puzzled look, confused that Jonah needed to ask. “Jonah, when you die, she inherits, but if you survive her, then the Flint estate will go to ... Marcus, I presume.”  
  
Very slowly, Jonah turned to his brother, then shifted away, a look of utter horror on his face. “Merlin, it fits. I told you and Tabitha the truth about Tamara and suddenly she’s a target.” He stood up, pushing over the chair in his hurry to get to Marcus.  
  
“No!” Marcus leapt away, hurriedly producing his wand with a shaking hand. “Jonah, I’ve not had anything to do with this. For the gods’ sake, why would I? It’s Potter making things up, trying to switch the blame for his department’s incompetence.”  
  
But Jonah had leapt at his brother knocking the wand out of his hand, and slamming him against the wall. “You want the house that badly? For Salazar’s sake, you know the situation, Marcus. Even if you did inherit, you can’t sell the poxy place. But you’d kill Tamara just to get your hands on it!”  
  
As he raised his fist, preparing to strike, Scorpius leapt across the desk, just as Karis screeched a Shield Charm. Jonah staggered back into her arms, leaving Marcus slouched and stunned on the floor.   
  
“Marcus knew she was your daughter, Jonah, long before this happened,” Harry barked.   
  
“What?”  
  
Scorpius coughed and stepped closer to Jonah. “Tamara told me she’d seen Marcus a few years ago. He’s known for five years who she really is and where she was living, so if he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done it anytime.”  
  
Jonah shuffled around, then bent forwards to offer his hand to his brother, muttering an apology. Scowling, Marcus nonetheless accepted the hand, and then the pair of them turned to Harry.  
  
“So who do you think is trying to kill her?” Marcus asked.   
  
“Someone who knows she’s the heir,” Harry replied. “Someone who will benefit from her being out of the way, which is why, I must say, Marcus, my initial suspicions have been with you. But -” Licking his lips, he turned to Karis. “If Jonah dies before you, Madam Flint, you would effectively be homeless, unless Tamara takes pity on you and lets you stay on.”  
  
Karis stared at him coolly. Her eyes flickered to Jonah and Scorpius saw an almost imperceptible nod pass between them. “The Flint house is the inheritance, Potter, but that is all. Everything inside has been bought with my money, and shall remain in my family. Should my husband pre-decease me, then, yes, I will find somewhere else to live, but while I am alive, it is  _my_  money keeping the place standing.”  
  
“It’s true,” Jonah confirmed. “And I have a deed of entitlement to that effect. Karis’ money is separate because she didn’t want it being left to my family.” He paused, then added with a glance at Marcus. “My brother and sister are aware of this. They know the Flint inheritance is more of a curse than a blessing.”  
  
Not by any words or movement did Harry betray the exasperation at another dead end. But when the Flints had left (still none the wiser as to Tamara’s whereabouts), Harry let out a groan and threw  _The Prophet_  in the bin with such vehemence, the bin fell over.  
  
“We are going absolutely nowhere, very, very fast,” he complained.   
  
Now sitting at Harry’s desk, Scorpius picked up the card Marcus had left and turned it over. “What did Marcus say he did for a living? Distribution of merchandise ... or something.”  
  
“Quidditch Salesman,” Harry muttered. “Jumped up delivery boy, probably. Who does he work for? We might as well check out his alibi.”  
  
“Uh ... ‘Corvus’, it says on the card. Not sure I’ve heard of them.”  
  
“Specialist broom design,” Harry replied. “It’s a niche market, more for racing brooms than Quidditch, which could be why you’ve never heard of them. They’re an off-shoot of Firebolt, I think.”   
  
“Why ‘Corvus’?” Scorpius pondered. “What does it mean?”  
  
“Corvus?” The voice at the door disturbed their deliberations. Harry looked up first and grimaced when he saw Hermione walk into the room.   
  
“Is it to do with my client’s case?” she asked, stepping towards Scorpius.  
  
“Nope, something else, and probably not important,” Harry replied. “Why, what does ‘Corvus’ mean, Hermione?”  
  
“It’s Latin,” she said. “Corvus Corax is one you should be aware of, but no doubt Scorpius is more interested in the Serpens and you, Harry, might only recognise the Panthera Leo-”  
  
“Stop!” protested Harry. “You’ve made your point and no doubt this was something I should have read in  _Hogwarts: A History,_  but please, just tell me what Corvus means before I -”  
  
“OH!” Scorpius interrupted. “It’s a raven, isn’t it? And Corvus Corax is ....” He creased his brow as he though, trying to remember the tortuous hours he’d spent in Ancient Runes revising Latin names. “Common raven, so ... this is a Ravenclaw company.”  
  
“Take ten house points for Slytherin, Mr Malfoy,” Hermione said, grinning at him. Then she switched off the smile and became serious. “You know why I’m here. Do you have any more on my client? Because otherwise I am here to secure his release.”  
  
“Yep, I know.” Getting to his feet, Harry withdrew some papers from a file, and handed them over to Hermione. “Kingsley’s signed an authorisation giving me an additional forty-eight hours. Sorry, I was on my way to find you, but was waylaid by the Flints. ”  
  
“My client protests his innocence at all times,” she assured Harry. “You have no fresh evidence.”  
  
“We have a possible new lead,” he muttered, flashing her a regretful smile. “Hermione, Sally-Ann’s wand was found in his trunk. If McLaggen is innocent, then he must have an idea who put the wand in his trunk. You need to advise him that it’s for the best if he talks to us.”  
  
She took the papers, reading them through with care, and then, just as she was about to leave, she said, “Cormac McLaggen is my client and I cannot divulge any of our conversations unless he authorises it. Theoretically, however, I could tell you that some clients refuse to co-operate with their lawyers as well. And they are the most infuriating.”  
  
“Point taken,” Harry replied. “It’s infuriating for us as well. I never would have thought McLaggen was too shy to talk about his love life. And so far he’s the only person we’ve found who has admitted to knowing her - apart from the Hufflepuff girls.”  
  
Pausing by the door, Hermione stared back down at McLaggen’s release papers, and then to Harry. “I don’t remember her very well,” she murmured. “I tried to get to know her in that first term because she was another Muggleborn, but she refused to talk to me, and in the end I gave up. From reading the case file, I’m guessing she realised that I’d know she was lying about her background. With Justin in her House, no wonder she kept herself apart.”  
  
“What’s this Justin person got to do with anything?” Scorpius asked, puzzled.   
  
“He’s a member of Muggle aristocracy,” Hermione replied. “Sally-Ann only pretended she was. At least, she said she was from a rich family, which isn’t always the same thing.  
  
“But just because she stayed away from him, it doesn’t stop her having friends from other Houses. She went out with a Gryffindor, so perhaps she was friendly with some of the girls from other Houses - not the Slytherins, no disrespect, Scorpius, but in those days they would not have been friendly with a Muggleborn - but she would have had Potions with Ravenclaw.”  
  
“She wasn’t bright,” Scorpius interjected, adding bluntly, “Why would the Ravenclaws bother?”  
  
At that, Hermione burst out laughing, and after a moment Harry joined in.  
  
“What’s so funny?”  
  
“Er, not much, but basically the brightest witch in our year became incredibly friendly with two idiots,” Harry said, still chuckling as he waved Hermione off. “It could be that the Ravenclaws were comfortable with someone they didn’t have to compete with.”  
  
Picking up his quill and a fresh sheet of parchment, Harry scribbled out a list of names. “Okay, let’s widen our inquiry and find out more about our victim. These are the Ravenclaws from my year. Most of them work at the Ministry, so shouldn’t be hard to find. Go and talk to them and see what they can remember about Sally-Ann. I’ll leave you with that, while I track down Corvus and check out Flint’s alibi.”  
  
Scorpius nodded and stepped out the office, clutching the list in his hand as he deciphered Harry’s writing. Then he blinked. Ravenclaws, Corvus, brooms.  
  
“Harry, did you know a guy called Roger Davies at Hogwarts?”  
  
Harry looked up. “I did. Why do you ask?”  
  
“He was at that party I went to, and Oliver told me he designs broomsticks. Uh ... was he a Ravenclaw? Because if he was, then do you think he’s the owner of Corvus?”  
  
Harry beamed at him. “Could well be. Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, as well. Right, I’ll send him a message, asking if he’ll drop by and -”  
  
He must have seen something in Scorpius’ face because he stopped speaking and gave his a curious look. “You don’t look at all eager, Scorpius. That’s unlike you.”  
  
“Davies thought I was my dad at that party and ... um ... it was awkward. He might not be happy to see me.”  
  
Pursing his lips, Harry gazed at him thoughtfully then nodded. “Okay, you go and see the Ravenclaws, then take your lunch break. I’ll ask Davies to drop by while you’re not here. Sorry, it’s not your fault, Scorpius, but there’s no point in winding up the man when we only want his help.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Scorpius replied calmly, but inside he could feel a heaviness descending on him. There was no point protesting anything. People’s perceptions and prejudice took time to change. Scorpius knew that, he just wished it could happen quicker. With a sigh, he scanned the names on the list, and decided instead of interviewing the Ministry workers first, he’d get out of the building. Padma Patil was a research Healer at St Mungo’s; he would start there.  
  
Landing in the atrium amongst all the other visitors, he stumbled as he stepped out of the hearth, and bumped into someone. She turned around, looking irritated, but her face cleared when she realised who it was. He smiled apologetically at his Great-Aunt Andromeda.  
  
“Scorpius, how lovely to see you. What brings you to St Mungo’s?”  
  
“Uh, work actually,” he replied. “Why are you here? You’re not ill, are you?”  
  
“Me? I’m as fit as ever. The St Mungo’s board invited me to present my findings on new lycanthropy treatments. I’m on my way there now.”  
  
“Oh, well good luck, then.”  
  
“Thank you.” Peering closer, she smiled at him, then touched him lightly on the arm. “I tell you what. How about I take you for that birthday lunch afterwards? Are you free?”  
  
Feeling much happier, Scorpius agreed, promising to meet her in Diagon Alley at one. At least with his great-aunt he could moan to his heart’s content. Not only did she understand his situation, having experienced much the same prejudice due to the resemblance to her sister, but Andromeda also appreciated how bloody hard it was to smile sweetly when all you wanted to do was yell.


	12. Reminiscences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay.

Padma Patil was a research Healer at St Mungo’s. Initially having told Scorpius she could only spare him fifteen minutes, she nonetheless treated him with courtesy and offered him a cup of coffee in the pokey office attached to her lab. With dark hair scraped back into a bun, and metal-rimmed glasses, she gave the appearance of being severe, but didn’t object to answering his questions.  
  
“What do you research?” he asked, more to loosen her up than anything else.  
  
“Muggle diseases and how they occur in the magical population,” she replied, adding dryly, “I don’t expect that’s what you’re here for though, Mr Malfoy.”  
  
“You can call me Scorpius,” he said, and tried a friendly smile. “You’re right, this has nothing to do with your job here, but I’m chasing up the classmates of a girl called -”  
  
“Sally-Ann Perks,” she interrupted. “I may spend my days locked in a lab, but I do read the  _Prophet,_  Scorpius.” Grinning, she summoned a tin, opened it and offered him a biscuit. “My twin, Parvati, is Lavender Zabini’s best friend, so I get to hear a few things.”  
  
Padma knew Lavender; that could explain why she wasn’t looking at him as if he were dirt.   
  
“So,” he said as he accepted a rather crumbly biscuit, “do you remember Sally-Ann?”  
  
“Only a little,” she replied, and frowned as she concentrated. “We had Potions with the Hufflepuffs, but I tended to sit with my friends in Potions. Professor Snape was a hard taskmaster and you didn’t want to be stuck with anyone who was slapdash.”  
  
“Was Sally-Ann slapdash?”  
  
“I think she was passably good. At least she never burnt her cauldron, or blew up the classroom like Hannah did. But not ... um ... noticeable, I’m afraid. Not in Potions, anyway.”  
  
Getting to his feet, Scorpius was about to thank her for her time when he caught her last words. “But she was noticeable somewhere else?”  
  
“Ha!” She barked a laugh. “Sally-Ann used to watch the Quidditch teams practise. Not just the Hufflepuffs - who you’d expect her to support - but the Ravenclaws and probably the Gryffindors, too, although I’m not so sure about the Slytherins.” She paused, and wondering if she was waiting for a reaction, he stared her out. Smiling slightly, Padma continued, “She was a Muggleborn, so she wouldn’t have been welcome at their practises, and ... well ... your dad had an ex who saw off anyone she thought showed an interest.”  
  
He didn’t ask who she was referring to. Pansy Parkinson was someone his dad remained tight-lipped about. She was also a witch that his Aunt Daphne never failed to mention when she came to visit, purely to wind up her brother-in-law. But the mention of Sally-Ann Perks, even though the connection to his father was tenuous at best, made him uncomfortable. He knew firsthand how difficult it had been to break away from his heritage, and Lily was only a girlfriend. What if ... He closed his eyes, not wanting to think the unthinkable.  
  
 _He’s helping with the diary,_  he told himself.  _Dad could have destroyed it by now._  
  
Then he smiled, burying the uncomfortable thoughts. “Was there any competition? My father’s reticent about his Hogwarts days. I mean, I understand there are parts he doesn’t want to talk about, but old girlfriends aren’t an issue.”  
  
“He wasn’t short of offers. One or two of my housemates were devastated when it came to the Yule Ball,” Padma replied. “Plus he had the whole bad-boy Slytherin thing going on. But ... well ... after that year, we ... um ...”  
  
He waited patiently. Having read Audrey Weasley’s  _Modern History of Hogwarts_ , a book containing biting but accurate essays concerning the two wars, he knew how much things had changed with Cedric Diggory’s death.  
  
She changed the subject. “I was quite friendly with your aunt in those days. We occasionally catch up over coffee.”  
  
“Was that unusual? Your friendship with Daphne, I mean?”  
  
She screwed up her nose as she pondered the question. “I suppose so, but then I wasn’t as bound to my House as most people were. Having a twin in Gryffindor meant I mingled more than my fellow Ravenclaws. Mind you ...” she paused and chewed the side of her mouth, “my sister and Lavender wouldn’t have had a friendship with a Slytherin. The Gryffindors could be ridiculously prejudiced at times.”  
  
“But Lavender married Blaise Zabini!” Scorpius replied, raising his eyebrows.   
  
“And years later we’re still talking about it,” Padma murmured. Then she shook herself. “Sorry, this has nothing to do with Sally-Ann Perks, I’m not sure why I brought it up, and I really do have to get back to work. I apologise for distracting you, Scorpius.”  
  
“I’m sorry for keeping you,” he replied with a smile, and got to his feet. “One thing though. If none of the Ravenclaws sat with the Hufflepuffs in Potions, who did she work with?”  
  
Padma narrowed her eyes and started to sort through her classmates on her fingers. “There were the girls in her dorm, but they didn’t seem to get on. Justin Finch-Fletchley, although he tended to stay with Ernie Macmillan. So that left ... Gods, who was it?” The expression on her face changed, from one of puzzlement to exasperation. “Smith. Zacharias Smith. That’s it, I remember now. We used to think they were going out together because we never saw him with another girl. Of course, none of us realised he was gay until much later.”  
  
 _Zacharias Smith ..._    
  
After thanking Padma again for her time, Scorpius strode out of her office and towards the main St Mungo’s reception area. Asking if he could use a hearth with a Floo connection, he was directed along the corridor and down a small flight of stairs, until he found a large room, beset with several small fireplaces. The flames burnt bright in each of them, so he hurried to the nearest one, flipped a Sickle at the attendant, and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder as he knelt in front of the fire.  
  
“Harry!” he called.  
  
“He’s with the Minister, Scorpius,” came a friendly reply. “May I take a message?”  
  
Staring upwards through the flames, Scorpius grinned at the neatly dressed witch in front of him. “Pat, I thought you were still in St Mungo’s!”  
  
“I’ve been discharged, but I’m on sick leave. I just came in to see how you all were.”   
  
“That’s great.” Scorpius swallowed. He looked around the room, pleased to see it was practically empty, but he still lowered his voice. “Pat, I can’t really chat like this, but can you pass a message on to Harry? Padma Patil has just mentioned that our victim used to hang around with Zacharias Smith.”  
  
She pulled out a quill, scribbling down the name. “Anything else?”  
  
“No, it’s just that he has the flat below McLaggen’s so ...”  
  
“Okay, I’ll pass it on to him. Are you coming back soon?”  
  
“Uh, I was planning to grab some lunch, first,” he replied, thinking of Andromeda. “I’ll be back by two, unless you think Harry’s likely to be back soon.”  
  
“He’s thrashing out the budget with Minister Shacklebolt, Scorpius, so he’s going to be most of the afternoon,” said Pat before she waved goodbye. He watched her walk towards Harry’s office, the note in her hand, and then he withdrew his head from the hearth. It was a lead, a small one, because he doubted very much whether Smith would have got her pregnant, but it was still something. Someone else had known Sally-Ann, and that person lived below their main suspect. Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions, but it seemed too much of a coincidence to Scorpius. He deliberated going back to the office to wait for Harry, but he had no idea how long he’d be, and as he had promised to meet Andromeda. With a nod to the Floo attendant, he turned on the spot and Apparated to Diagon Alley.   
  
His great-aunt was sitting on a bench outside a rather formal looking restaurant, her head in a book, when he saw her. Although it wasn’t quite one o’clock, he fixed an apologetic expression on his face as he rushed over to her.  
  
“Don’t worry,” she said, dismissing the apology with a wave of her hand. “I was early. What is that you’re holding?”  
  
He grinned a little embarrassed and held out the small bag from Bedazzled Gems. “Present for Lily. I called in there just now.”  
  
“It’s not her birthday, is it?” Andromeda asked, frowning. “No, she’s a March baby, I remember because her birthday is so near Teddy’s.”  
  
“No, it’s um ...”  
  
“Anniversary?” she suggested. “I didn’t realise you’d been together that long.” Then she smiled wistfully. “My husband, Ted, used to present me with a rose every year to commemorate our first kiss. Merlin knows where he got them. Our first kiss was in the depths of winter after skating on a lake.” Shaking her head, his great-aunt got to her feet. “You don’t want to hear all this, though. Let us lunch and you can tell me all about this case you’re working on.”  
  
“I’m ... er ...not really allowed to talk about it, Aunt-”  
  
She laughed indulgently. “I know. When he was younger, Teddy used to complain all the time about Harry’s reticence. ‘What’s the point of having a godfather with an exciting job,’ he used to say, ‘if he can’t tell me anything?’ I will have to make do with you telling me all about Lily, instead. Unless you want to talk about my sister?”  
  
“Not really,” he muttered. “I’d rather eat.”  
  
“Then we shall! This, Scorpius, is my favourite restaurant. The Grove serves the best chateaubriand in London, and the most sublime crème brûlée,” she declared. And taking his arm, she led him to the restaurant.   
  
“This is where Dominique works, isn’t it?” he asked, looking around. He was rather wary of Lily’s cousin, who had seemed to dislike him on sight.  
  
“Yes, she’s the maitre d’, but doesn’t work on Mondays,” Andromeda replied. She smiled slightly at him. “You look relieved. Do you not get on?”  
  
“Uh, just not sure about her. We got on well enough at Teddy’s stag night, but she’s... um... protective of Lily.”  
  
“I’ve always liked Dominique,” said Andromeda as she flipped open the menu. “She may appear to dislike everyone, but I suspect it’s all a front to disguise how much she actually cares. People are rarely what they appear on the surface. You appreciate that, Scorpius, I am sure. Now, will you indulge me and try the chateaubriand? They only prepare it for two, and I assure you it is wonderful.”  
  
He agreed, happy with the suggestion. Andromeda was obviously a favoured customer because despite the fact that The Grove was packed, the waiting staff were attentive, although not to the point of suffocation. Used, these past few months, to living on cheap anything-with-chips-food, Scorpius tucked in with relish when the steak arrived. It had been a while since he’d been out to somewhere as plush as The Grove - his clerk’s salary barely kept him in bread and cheese, but now he had the money from his dad ...  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Andromeda asked.  
  
“Oh ... er ...” he blushed slightly. “I was wondering if Lily would like to come here. I might treat her when she comes back for Christmas, but it’s ... um ...”  
  
“Too formal?” Andromeda queried. He nodded. “She’d probably like the gesture, but would appreciate three meals somewhere livelier, perhaps. You’re still going strong, then.”  
  
“Mmm,” he replied, but said no more.  
  
Andromeda chuckled. “And you’re not at all comfortable talking about her. Quite right too. She’s a sweet girl, Lily, but not too sweet, thankfully. Plenty of spirit, I think. Do your parents like her?”  
  
“Uh ... they’ve not really met her,” he muttered. “At least not under good circumstances.”  
  
“Ah, well,” she said briskly. “The worst they can do is blast you off the damn Black tapestry. You have good friends around you, Scorpius - as well as Teddy and myself - remember that.”  
  
Touched beyond words, he took a swallow of his water. Andromeda appeared to realise he was embarrassed so steered onto less contentious subjects. He listened, genuinely interested, and together they passed a happy hour over lunch, enjoying each other’s company despite the two generational divide. In some respects, his great- aunt reminded him of his grandmother, with similar mannerisms and tone of voice, especially when impatient, but she was less austere.  
  
“Where  _is_  that waiter?” Andromeda fussed as she waited for the bill. “My meeting at St Mungo’s went very well, but they’re wary about investing more money in research if the Minister decide to freeze their budget.” She smiled slyly. “I find the Finance Department is far more receptive if I approach them in person, but I do have to get there before three to see the head accountant.”  
  
“I can pay,” Scorpius said, bringing out his moneybag.  
  
“No, this is my treat for your birthday,” she replied, getting to her feet, “but if you wouldn’t mind staying here, then I will leave you the money.”  
  
Assisting her with her cloak, Scorpius watched her leave before wandering back to the table. Not having the clout or respect that Andromeda garnered, he sat contemplating his surroundings as he tried to catch the waiter’s eye. Perhaps it was paranoia, but the staff seemed far less willing to attend to him now his great-aunt had left. Wonderful food, decorous surroundings, but he felt far less comfortable on his own.   
  
“No, Lily,” he muttered, “we’ll go elsewhere at Christmas.”  
  
“Successful lunch?” Pat said cheerily when he returned to the office. She was sitting at her desk, twiddling a few strands of her hair between her fingers as she half-heartedly tried to finish a crossword in  _The Quibbler._  
  
He beamed at her, delighted she was looking so well. “Yeah, it was great,” he replied. “Makes a change from Ministry sandwiches.”  
  
“Anywhere nice?” Pat asked.   
  
“Uh ... The Grove in Diagon Alley.”  
  
She raised her eyebrows and whistled. “Someone’s treating themselves. I daren’t even look at the menu in that place.” Stepping back, she perused him. “Must say, you’re certainly dressed for the part. Very stylish robes!”  
  
“Uh, yeah, I suppose they are,” he muttered, starting to feel self-conscious. He sat at his desk, placing the bag from Bedazzled Gems on the side of his desk, and started to shuffle the papers on his desk.   
  
“Ooh, is that for me?” Pat asked, and laughed when he scowled at her. “I’m teasing, Scorpius. Lily is a lucky girl.”  
  
He gave her half a smile, still uncomfortable with her scrutiny, despite knowing she was merely trying to be friendly. “Is Harry back yet?”  
  
“I am now. Where have you been? The office was left unmanned.”   
  
Scorpius looked up to see Harry storming through the door, a stack of files in his arms and a furious expression on his face.   
  
“I saw Padma Patil and then had lunch. Sorry, it went on a bit, but I did leave you message-” Scorpius started to explain, wondering why he felt the need to apologise. It was lunch - that was all. A one-off because usually he ate at his desk.  
  
“You can’t expect him to hurry lunch at The Grove, Harry,” Pat said cheerily. “And I was here. There were no messages, by the way, apart from Scorpius’s which I left on your -”  
  
“The Grove,” Harry stated, and dropped the stack of files in his arms on Scorpius’s desk. There was something on the top - a newspaper, which Harry retrieved. He glared at Scorpius, his eyes taking him in and then lingering on the small box from Bedazzled Gems. “My office. Now.”  
  
“Yes, sure.” Scorpius rose, gathered up his notes from his interview with Padma and followed Harry.  
  
“Budget meeting must have gone badly,” Pat whispered as he brushed past her. “Just nod and agree until he calms down.”  
  
Harry wasn’t sitting, but standing behind his desk when Scorpius entered. Unsure just why he was looking so furious, and why the ire seemed to be directed at him, Scorpius said nothing, but stared ahead and waited for whatever bollocking he assumed he was about to receive.   
  
“Want to explain?” Harry demanded.  
  
“Explain, what?” Scorpius stared at Harry, and then at the copy of the  _Prophet_ he was waving in the air.  
  
“You said you hadn’t said anything to James about the case. Or anything ‘else’ I should say.”  
  
“What?” Scorpius grabbed the paper. Intending to flick straight to The Seer, his attention was caught by the front page instead.  
  
 ****

**HOGWARTS MURDER VICTIM LATEST  
SALLY-ANN PERKS PREGNANT!**

  
  
In horror, Scorpius read on.   
  
 _Following the discovery of a skeleton in the grounds of Hogwarts, the Auror Department has not uncovered much, save for the identity of the victim, one Sally-Ann Perks, who attended Hogwarts at the same time as Head Auror, Harry Potter.  
  
Perhaps thinking they didn’t need any help, they have not seen fit to tell of the single most important fact about the unfortunate victim. For according to this reporter’s sources, Sally-Ann Perks was pregnant when she died.   
  
This pertinent fact appears to be unimportant to the Auror Department, who seem not to realise the full implications of such a dilemma for the victim. Far be it for the _Prophet _to sound politically incorrect, but back in nineteen-ninety-five, certain members of our magical society would not have been at all open to a Muggleborn girl giving birth to an heir - the recent furore over Tamara Flint bears this out as we have seen. Whilst the majority of magical families would not have blinked an eyelid and would have welcomed a child, whatever its heritage, it cannot be denied that those of a certain persuasion would have done anything within their power to terminate such a stain on their family tree._  
  
He stopped reading. “Did James write this? The byline credits Augustus Little.”   
  
“That’s a universal name that the reporters there use when they want to hide behind the paper to print their so-called ‘facts’,” Harry spat. “James has been keeping a very low profile and when I tried to reach him earlier today, he was suspiciously unavailable.”   
  
“But he wouldn’t write this,” Scorpius said, pointing to the sentences regarding the Auror department. “Why would he be so critical?”  
  
“He’s ambitious and wants to get on,” Harry retorted. “Following the Prophet line is the least he can do, especially when it’s set to undermine whatever we have against the editor’s son.” He took back the paper and laid it on the desk. “This part here about welcoming a child whatever its parentage is a clear reference to the McLaggens. Cormac McLaggen’s mother is a Muggleborn, and from what I’ve been told, his parents married a few months  _after_  he was born.”  
  
Scorpius whistled. “So they’re basically pre-empting any case we had against McLaggen. That’s clever.”  
  
“And unprofessional. By telling their readers, they’ve buggered up the entire investigation. We have no element of surprise and the father of Sally-Ann’s baby is now forewarned.” Sitting down, Harry Summoned a chair for Scorpius. “What I’m concerned about, right at this moment, is what else they know, and how they got hold of this information, especially as the possibility of her being pregnant is only known to a handful of us.”  
  
“Who knew, then?”  
  
“You, me, the house-elf, Jacob, Hermione and McLaggen. That’s six of us, Scorpius. I know I said nothing. McLaggen hasn’t had the opportunity, Hermione has more integrity than the whole of the magical world put together, and if the source had been Frinkle, the _Prophet_  would have used her status to rubbish us even more. That leaves us with -”  
  
“Me and Jacob,” Scorpius said warily.   
  
The glare in Harry’s eyes was discernible even behind the glasses. “Harry, I swear, I’ve said nothing to James.”  
  
“You were out with him on Saturday. If this was an accident ...”  
  
“Yes, for a few drinks, but I was with the others as well. Teddy barely left my side and walked me home.” He inhaled deeply, and stared back at Harry. “I was drunk, but not completely out of control.”  
  
“So what you’re telling me is that this wasn’t an accident?” Harry said slowly.   
  
“You think I  _sold_  information?” Aghast, he couldn’t remember getting to his feet, but he must have done because the next minute the chair was on the floor, and Scorpius was leaning across the desk. “You do, don’t you?”   
  
Unperturbed, Harry’s eyes flickered away from Scorpius’s face and to the robes. “New robes, lunch at The Grove, and even an expensive present for my daughter,” he murmured. “What conclusion would you draw, Scorpius?”  
  
“Uh, well, maybe I’d ask someone first before accusing them! Or consider that someone else might have had access to the information. Like ...” He faltered. Lily had known. Lily had prised the information out of Frinkle with far more dexterity that he had.  
  
“Who else is there?” Harry demanded. “Come on, if you told someone else despite swearing to me you didn’t, then at least have the guts to face up to it now. That way I won’t have to-”  
  
“Sack me?” Scorpius demanded. “Arrest me? What, Harry, what is it you have to do?” Wiping his palms down his robe, he struggled to gain control of the anger boiling inside of him.   
  
“I understand that it must be difficult for you,” Harry continued. “Your family’s rich and you’ve been cut off with barely a penny, so I realise the temptation must have been enormous. Just tell me the truth.”  
  
“I have,” Scorpius replied coldly. “You don’t want to believe me.”  
  
“Then explain the money,” demanded Harry. “Explain how you can suddenly afford flash presents for my daughter. I saw the prices in Susan’s shop, and I’d baulk at paying that.”  
  
“Give me some bloody credit, will you!” Scorpius retorted sarcastically. “If I was on the take, I’d have been a damn sight more subtle.”  
  
He wrenched open the door, refusing to listen to Harry’s entreaties (or were they threats) and hesitated before throwing his notebook on Harry’s desk. “I spoke to Padma. You might want to look at it before I sell what little information she had,” he called back.  
  
“Malfoy! Get back here!” Harry ordered.  
  
“Nope. I’m off to the  _Prophet,_  or maybe I’ll try  _The Quibbler_  this time.”  
  
“Then you’re suspended!”  
  
“FINE!” Scorpius shouted, and turning towards the door, he sent the stack of files sprawling onto the floor.  
  
“I’ll see to it,” Pat muttered. She tried to grab his arm but he shook her off. “Scorpius, calm down. Go back and sort this out.”  
  
But he ignored her. It was only when he got out of the building and was striding along the London streets that he wondered why Harry hadn’t just sacked him.   
  
He walked for a while, not paying attention to where he was, only conscious of the fact that he was striding along the streets, past bustling Muggles, some of whom stared at him in bemusement because of his robes. It was when he got to a large park, and decided to take a breather, that it started to rain and he realised he didn’t have his cloak. He thought about Apparating, but the park was busy and the last thing he needed was the Ministry fining him. So he huddled into his robes and ran to a nearby tree to shelter from the rain. As he watched the rain splattering on the grass, he finally recognised where he was. His parents’ flat was on the far side of the park. Perhaps his walk here had not been as aimless as he’d thought. Maybe sounding off to his mum was what he needed. Deciding to chance the rain, he set off again, this time running towards a large white building housing the eight exclusive flats. But at the front door, he faltered. Angry as he was with Harry, the thought of his father saying ‘I told you so’ was not a pleasant one. He groaned and was about to turn away when a window opened.  
  
“Scorpius, I thought that was you,” called his aunt. “Your parents aren’t here, but I’d appreciate the company. Fancy a cup of coffee?”  
  
“Uh ... yeah, good idea,” he called out, and pushed open the door.  
  
“Or something stronger, perhaps,” she said when he walked into the flat. "You look as if you need it.”  
  
“Coffee’s fine,” he muttered. Sitting on the sofa, he leant back and stared at the ceiling, suddenly grateful that it was his aunt here and not his mum, who would only interrogate him.   
  
“Do you want to talk?” she asked.  
  
“Not really. Bad day at work, that’s all.”  
  
“It’s only three o’clock. Shouldn’t you be back there?” she chided.  
  
He shook his head but didn’t elaborate.  
  
With a slight sigh, Daphne clapped her hands and called out to the house-elf. “We want coffee, Truckle and if you can find some biscuits I’m sure Scorpius would appreciate it.”  
  
“Oh, Master Scorpius is here. Truckle hasn’t seen the young master for a long time.”  
  
Opening his eyes, Scorpius stared at Truckle as she bustled into the room. Despite her free status, she remained fiercely loyal to his mum, and by proxy Scorpius. He smiled faintly, wondering what she’d do if he told her his problems - probably hex Harry and then turn on James, despite the reverence she held for that particular family.   
  
“How is the master’s young lady?” she asked. “Truckle is thinking she could easily be making more apple puffs for Miss Lily.”  
  
“Uh ... yeah, she’d like that -” he started to say. And then a thought occurred to him. He needed to speak to Lily, wanted to speak to her because he needed her reassurance, but also had to find out if she’d spoken to James. It wasn’t that he’d blame her, exactly. He hadn’t specifically told her it was a secret, but if she had let something slip -   
  
“Aunt Daphne, sorry, I can’t stay and I need to borrow Truckle for a while.”  
  
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Daphne muttered. “I’m just your aunt who hasn’t seen you for months, after all.”  
  
Pecking her on the cheek, he said goodbye and then grabbed Truckle by the hand. “I need to get to the Hogwarts kitchens, Truckle. Can you take me there?”  
  
“Of course,” she squeaked, seemingly irritated that he was questioning her abilities. “Hold on tight, Master Scorpius.”  
  
  
The kitchen was quiet when they landed, with very few elves working at that moment, but Scorpius knew it would soon be heaving when they returned to start preparations for the evening feast. He looked around for Frinkle, knowing she wasn’t keen on Truckle, who was seen as an oddity for wanting freedom. But Frinkle wasn’t around either, so Scorpius sat at one of the counters, waved away the house-elf approaching with a glass of pumpkin juice, instead talking to Truckle. “Can you find Lily for me? I don’t think she has anything this afternoon, so she’s probably in her common room, unless she has Quidditch practise.”  
  
“Leave it with Truckle, Master Scorpius,” she wheezed and scurried out of the kitchen.  
  
He sat back, drumming his fingers on the counter and wondering whether this was a good idea, because he suddenly had no idea what on earth he’d say to Lily.  
  
But it was too late now. Within a matter of minutes, Lily had arrived at the kitchens with Truckle, a huge beaming smile on her face as she saw him, and threw herself into his arms.   
  
“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaimed. “I was just thinking about you, and suddenly your name appeared on the Map. I thought I was imagining it, but then Truckle found me.”  
  
It was tempting to say nothing and just hold her. He hadn’t quite appreciated, until she was kissing him just how much he needed her particular brand of sunshine to soothe him. Feeling himself melt into her, he kissed her back, drawing her closer, desperate not to ruin this moment.  
  
But she pulled away, still with a smile on her face, but also a look of concern in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, pulling her back towards him.  
  
“Yes it does, or you wouldn’t be here,” she replied. Grabbing a stool, she sat by his side and held his hand, still smiling. “Is it your Dad?”  
  
“Er, no.” He took a breath and squeezed her hand. “It’s yours, actually. I’ve ... um ... been suspended.”  
  
She didn’t drop her hand, but the smile left her lips. Open mouthed, she stared back at him. “What have you done?” she whispered.  
  
“You automatically assume I’ve done something wrong, then?” he snapped.   
  
“Well, Dad wouldn’t-” She stopped and bit her lip. “Sorry, tell me what’s happened. I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding.”  
  
“No, there’s no misunderstanding. Harry thinks I’m selling details about the case to the _Prophet_. I told him I hadn’t. He doesn’t believe me, so I walked out.”  
  
Swallowing, Lily squeezed his hand. “I know you wouldn’t do that,” she said. He felt a sudden tug inside at her belief in him. “And Dad wouldn’t assume the worst, so he must have a reason for the misunderstanding.”  
  
“Yeah, course he does. He doesn’t trust me! He thinks because I went out with James on Saturday, and because I turned up for work in a decent set of robes, that I must be on the take!”  
  
She frowned, and he could see her examining his clothes.  
  
“They’re my dad’s,” he hissed. “I saw him on my birthday and he gave me a lot of robes he used to wear for work.”  
  
“Scorpius, I’m not accusing you of anything,” she cried. “But Dad must have a reason. I don’t think you’d do it, but did you let slip anything to James when you went out with him?”  
  
“No, I bloody didn’t. James spent most of his night chatting up a witch, and as I’ve got a girlfriend, I didn’t join him, all right!”   
  
“Sure, okay,” she soothed, and started to edge closer.  
  
But when she placed her hand on his arm, the gesture didn’t calm him only annoyed him more. The fact she was searching for reasons, defending her dad, struck him as so unreasonable at that moment, that he brushed her hand away. “I could ask you the same thing!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The story’s about Sally-Ann being pregnant. Only a few of us knew about that, yet somehow the  _Prophet_  have found out. Harry’s cleared everyone, except me, but then I didn’t tell him someone else knew,” he finished bitterly.  
  
He heard her indrawn breath, but turned away. “You think I told James?” she muttered. “You think I sold that story to the  _Prophet._ Wow, thanks a bunch.”  
  
“No,” he muttered. “I don’t think you sold the story, but James is your brother and  _you_ might have let something slip-”  
  
“Because I’m so stupid, you mean?” she queried, her voice rising now. “Merlin, I don’t know what’s worse, you thinking I sold a story, or you thinking James could manipulate me that easily.” Getting to her feet, she hit him on the arm, her face now livid. “I thought you knew me better! I’ve lived with James my whole life. He wouldn’t ask me for information, or try to trick me because he knows there’s no point.  _You_  would be fair game to him, but I’m family and he wouldn’t do  _anything_  to hurt me.”  
  
“Lily, I-” he started to say, but Lily shot him a look of pure fury and stormed away to the door.   
  
“I don’t want to hear it!” she said coldly. “You think it’s unfair of my dad to accuse you, well, maybe it is, but in the same breath you think I’m the leak! Thanks a lot!”  
  
She slammed the door behind her, but he could still hear her angry shouts and footsteps as she fled away from him. He considered going after her, but Lily shouting at him would only bring the whole of Hogwarts running towards them, and he was in enough trouble. Besides, he knew the mood was temporary. Lily’s flash of temper was just that, a flash, and she’d come back, probably as soon as she got to the end of the corridor.   
  
Hearing a sound from the corner, he turned to apologise to Truckle, and then stopped dead. Someone was appearing from under a disguise. Someone who’d been under an Invisibility cloak, presumably for the entire time he’d been arguing with Lily.  
  
“How long have you been there?” he asked.  
  
Tamara smiled scornfully. “Long enough. Merlin, you really cocked that one up, didn’t you, Auror-boy!”  
  
“She’ll be back,” he muttered, but the door hadn’t swung open, and all at once he felt incredibly unsure. “She just needs a moment to calm down.”  
  
Laughing, Tamara took the stool Lily had just vacated. “She was perfectly calm and trying to talk sensibly to you, but you decided to attack her. I don’t think the strength of your wondrous personality is going to work this time, Scorpius.”  
  
“She’ll come back,” he repeated stubbornly.  
  
“Yes, probably. But not yet,” Tamara replied. Tossing her head, she reached out towards a plate of biscuits that one of the Hogwarts house-elves was levitating towards her. “She’s right as well. Harry wouldn’t accuse you without a decent reason. I know I’ve only got to know him recently, but he struck me as honourable.” Pausing she selected a biscuit. “You too, actually.”  
  
“Thanks,” he muttered.  
  
“Which means,” Tamara replied. “That either this is a huge mistake, or someone is setting you up.”  
  
“Mmhmm.” He had thought of that. It had been the only thought in his mind since Lily’s denial that she’d spoken to James. Although he wasn’t universally popular, he didn’t think anyone actively hated him - except ...  
  
“Proudfoot,” he muttered.   
  
Tamara looked at him, a touch dubiously. “The old Auror?” He nodded. “Hmm, I can’t say I liked him particularly, but is he that vindictive?”  
  
“He’s not played fair with me. And he’s made a few mistakes recently which he’s blamed me for.” Helping himself to a biscuit, he thanked the house-elf and ran through the case in his mind. “At least, I thought they were mistakes, but maybe they were deliberate.”  
  
“You need to talk to Harry,” she said sagely. “I’m sure you’re right and Lily will calm down, but walking out like that, with no explanation is only going to make him assume the worst.”  
  
“I’ll wait for Lily,” he replied stubbornly.   
  
“Could be a long wait,” she said, and smiled sarcastically, “but then I suppose you have nowhere else to go.” She shrugged. “Not really my business, but don’t you think you should be hightailing it back to the Ministry? Sulking like this isn’t going to do you any good.”  
  
He laughed sarcastically. “That’s rich coming someone who’s been sulking for, what is it, eighteen years?”  
  
Tamara scowled. “That’s completely different. I didn’t need anything from Jonah or any of the Flints. You need your job, because you have something to prove.”  
  
He paused, his eyes flicking to the kitchen door, but Lily hadn’t returned. In the corner, Truckle stood watching him, her eyes reproachful. He wondered whether to send her off to find Lily, but Tamara was right; Lily needed space.   
  
“Jonah came in to see us,” he murmured after a while.  
  
“Furious about the story. I expect.”  
  
“He was,” Scorpius replied, and leaning close, he lowered his voice. “But he also slammed Marcus against a wall when he thought he’d tried to kill you.”  
  
She blinked, opened her mouth to say something, but then obviously changed her mind.   
  
“I think he’d like to see you,” Scorpius persisted. “Talk things over. Discuss the Flint estate.”  
  
“Tell Jonah that I’ll sign away the inheritance,” Tamara said, her voice soft but with a touch of steel in its inflection.” I‘ve survived without my family, and in particular my dad for many years now. I don’t need their money, or name. I haven’t been Tamara Flint for nineteen years, Scorpius, and once this nonsense is over, I’ll resume my life as Mara Stone.”


	13. Widening the Circle

Lily didn’t return to the kitchens so, feeling disgruntled, especially as Tamara wouldn’t let up with her interrogation, Scorpius left with Truckle for London. Dropping her off at his parents’, he Apparated straight to Diagon Alley and back to his flat. As he entered, he heard a sound, which puzzled him; Ben had said he’d be working late and it wasn’t quite four-thirty. Instinctively he gripped his wand, but there were wards around the flat, and no one could have snuck up from the shop without George seeing them.   
  
“Rose, is that you?” he called.   
  
There was no reply, but the visitor dropped a cup and a muffled swear word crept into the air.   
  
“I’m in the kitchen,” rasped the voice.  
  
Cautiously, Scorpius approached. An enemy would hardly announce his presence, but he kept his hand firmly clasped around his wand nonetheless, and even raised it when he saw who it was.  
  
“What are you doing here, Potter?”  
  
“Lower that wand and I’ll tell you,” muttered James from the floor, where he was trying to gather up pieces of his broken cup. “Look, my wand’s on the table, so I’m not about to start anything, but I would like to talk... well, explain, really.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because,” James said, straightening up. “I’ve just received a Howler at work from my baby sister, which was embarrassing, and if I don’t set things straight for you, I think she’ll keep on sending them.” He pulled on his earlobe, and smiled lopsidedly. “Bloody loud as well. Never realised she was so good at Charms.”  
  
“She sent  _you_  a Howler?” Scorpius glanced around the room, wondering if Pomme would appear with another one for him.  
  
“Don’t worry. She knows you’re blameless ... well, she knows you’re not my informant,” James replied. He smiled again. “Can we talk about this, then?”  
  
“Er, yeah.” Scorpius gestured to the living room, but James faltered.   
  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I was about to go in there, when I saw Dad’s head in the fire. If he saw me here ...”  
  
Scorpius nodded. “Just confirm all his suspicions about me,” he muttered bitterly.  
  
“I seriously didn’t think he’d suspect you,” James muttered.  
  
“Did you think at all?” Scorpius asked and crossed over to the counter, placing the kettle on top of the stove. “Tea or coffee?”  
  
“Coffee, black no sugar,” James replied. He coughed and shuffled his feet. “I thought about the story. And it is a bloody good story.”  
  
Scorpius raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Railing at James for jeopardising the case would not help, not now, especially as he had no doubt that anything he told James would never be ‘off the record’. “Are you going to talk to your dad?” he asked, and handed him his drink.  
  
“Yeah, probably,” James said. He took a sip of his drink and sat at the table. “I’ll tell him you’re not my informant, okay? But ... er ... look, I don’t mean to sound as if I’m passing the buck, here, but you could have easily convinced him, couldn’t you? You didn’t have to walk out.”  
  
“I was angry!” Scorpius protested. “What did you expect me to do?”  
  
James shrugged. “Dunno. I guess I’ve never seen you lose it, Malfoy. You were always so controlled on the Quidditch pitch. Al used to complain all the time about how nothing seemed to get to you.” Then he smirked. “Must be my sister’s influence.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Scorpius replied noncommittally.  
  
“Or rather that you care what we think about you now.”   
  
He scowled at James’s perceptiveness but didn’t comment on it. “Was it definitely Harry in the fire?”  
  
“Yep, he called out as well. Sounded ... impatient, but then Dad is impatient - well, he always is with me.”  
  
Biting back the words ‘Do you blame him?’, Scorpius smiled slightly and sipped his tea. “Are you going to tell me who the informant is?”   
  
James shook his head. “Can’t do that. But I will clear things up with Dad, okay?”  
  
“Why did you-” Scorpius broke off. He wanted to ask James why, but conceding it had caused ructions would only fuel James’s curiosity. He shrugged. “Not my business.”  
  
“Why did I write that story?” James queried. “When I must have known it would cause trouble, perhaps?” Placing his cup on the table, he leant forwards. “Do you remember what I wanted to do when I left Hogwarts?”  
  
“Fly for the Arrows?” Scorpius guessed.  
  
“Mmm, it was the only thing I wanted to do,” James agreed, pressing his palms together. “I was utterly convinced I had what it took to fly with the best. But ...” He trailed off and smiled rather sadly to himself. “I can do this, though. Searching for stories, writing them up - it’s ...”  
  
“Even if you fuck over your family,” Scorpius stated. His voice was low, but the cynicism was rife in his tone.   
  
“Come on. My story won’t harm anything,” James said and with a wave of his hand, he brushed away Scorpius’s objections. “Besides, if you’d have given me a scoop, then maybe I wouldn’t have had to search for another.”  
  
“Ah, now we’re getting down to it,” Scorpius mocked. “You wanted the Tamara Flint story, didn’t you?”  
  
“Might have been nice,” muttered James. “After all I am family.”  
  
“Not mine,” Scorpius retorted. “And however ‘brilliant’ you think you are, Potter, Lavender’s the  _Prophet’s_  top reporter. And she’s never screwed me over.” He deliberated over his next words, not wanting to ask, but needing to know. “Those stories about me in the Seer, was that you?”  
  
Slowly James shook his head. “I’m on the crime desk.”  
  
“Will you tell me who wrote them? And why?”  
  
“Nope. But ...” He sighed. “Okay, I guess I owe you for landing you in shit. I’m not going to tell you who the source was for that story, but I will tell you that there is someone out to get you. Somewhere you’ve made an enemy, Scorpius. My informant doesn’t have a good word to say about you, and at the moment that fits with the newspaper line of rubbishing the Auror Department.”  
  
“Just because we’re holding McLaggen?”   
  
“You’re holding him on the slenderest of charges, Malfoy,” James murmured, his voice suddenly serious with intent.  
  
Instantly alert, Scorpius straightened up. He lifted his tea to his lips but paused before drinking. “Why aren’t the  _Prophet_  coming clean on who we’re holding, then?” he asked, deceptively mild. “Surely if the charges are so weak, you’d be able to fling a lot more shit at the department by really playing up to Cormac’s good character.” James didn’t move, but a muscle started to flicker in his cheek. “Ah, that’s it. Even his dad’s not sure, is he?”  
  
“I wouldn’t know. All I do is write the story,” James replied and draining his coffee, he got to his feet. “I should go. Look, if my sister gets in touch, can you tell her we’ve talked?”  
  
Nodding gloomily, Scorpius finished his drink and showed James the door. “She’s pretty angry with me, though, so not sure if she’ll listen.”  
  
“Send her a letter,” James suggested, yawning. “Or buy her some chocolates. Works wonders for me.”  
  
“Taking advice from a bloke who’s never had a girlfriend for longer than a month doesn’t sound like a great idea, and you clearly don’t know your sister,” Scorpius said drily. “Anyway, I have bought her some -” He patted his pocket, then groaned. “Except I’ve left them at the office.”  
  
James laughed. “You’ll have to go back then, won’t you? Good luck facing the old man.”  
  


***

  
  
After James had left, Scorpius vacated the kitchen and planted himself on the small sofa in the sitting room. He watched the fire, wondering if Harry would really appear, or if it had been a joke of James’s to wind him up. He’d have to go back to the office - not least to collect the earrings - because he had to explain. Listening to James speak about his job had only crystallised things in his mind: he wanted to be an Auror and he should not have flared up at Harry who, when it came down to it, was only doing his job. There was a leak, somewhere, and it looked as though it was right inside the department. When Scorpius looked at it objectively, he was the logical suspect, and he couldn’t blame Harry for jumping to that initial conclusion.   
  
“Now I have to hope he’ll give me a second chance,” he murmured to himself.  
  
“If you’re talking about me, then I think there’s a good chance of that,” came a voice from the fire.  
  
Startled, Scorpius leapt to his feet, then crouched by the fire. “Harry, I ... er ... I was just on my way back.”  
  
“Mmm, so I heard,” Harry said, not sounding at all sceptical. “Stay where you are, though. I think this is best done in private.”  
  
Shifting back, Scorpius watched as the flames flared to green, and Harry stepped into the room. He looked annoyed, frustrated even, but somehow Scorpius didn’t think it was aimed at him. He swallowed, thought about smiling, but decided it was better if he remained grave.  
  
“Tea or coffee?” he offered.  
  
“Not for me,” Harry said. He stared around the room, no doubt taking in the piles of paperwork on the table, and the small, neater pile of Quidditch magazines in the far corner.   
  
“Ben brings a lot of work home with him,” Scorpius explained. “We could talk in the kitchen, if you’d rather. That’s tidier.”  
  
“Not something that bothers me, Scorpius, as I’m sure you’ve realised,” Harry murmured. He cleared his throat. “I’m not here to talk to you about your domestic situation.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Scorpius blurted out. He took a breath waiting for Harry’s response, but he said nothing. “For walking out, I mean. I’m not sorry for selling the story because I didn’t do it, and I know it looks suspicious because of the present for Lily and the lunch and the robes, but -”  
  
“I need to apologise,” Harry interrupted. “Andromeda dropped in about an hour after you’d left to check she’d left enough money to cover the bill.” He sat down heavily on the sofa, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “If I’d been a halfway decent boss, I’d have remembered your birthday from your personnel file. I take it the robes were a present.”  
  
“Uh, sort of,” Scorpius mumbled. “I saw my mum over the weekend, and she was clearing out a load of things. These are Dad’s.”  
  
“And the present for Lily?” Harry queried.   
  
“I ...” Scorpius took a deep breath. “I was given some money for my birthday.”  
  
“And you blew it all on my daughter.” Harry’s voice was soft, mild even, but Scorpius knew that was deceptive. There was something bothering Harry, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with the story in the  _Prophet._    
  
Clearing his throat, he stared straight at him. “If I tell you something, can it remain between us two?”   
  
“If it pertains to the case, then no -”  
  
“It’s personal,” Scorpius replied swiftly.  
  
He knew he wasn’t imagining the wary look flicking in Harry’s eyes, but unable to puzzle it out, he ploughed on. “Uh, as you know, I’ve been disinherited. That is, I can’t inherit the Manor if I marry or have a kid with someone who isn’t a pureblood. There’s still some money coming to me when -”  
  
“Scorpius, what are you trying to tell me?”   
  
Startled by the increasing edge to Harry’s voice, Scorpius hesitated but then continued. “The thing is, I have been disowned- that’s not really in dispute - but only by my grandma. Dad’s not that happy with me, but he’s ... um ... not ... um. Okay, basically, Dad gave me a decent amount of money for my birthday, which more than covers the present I got for Lily. Not that I can afford to buy her things like that every day, so I do need to pick it up from the office -”  
  
“It’s okay, I brought it with me.” Pulling a small bag from his pocket, Harry handed over the gift from Bedazzled Gems. He seemed calmer now, but not by much, and again Scorpius wondered what was troubling Harry so much he could barely look at him.  
  
“That’s where I got the money,” he muttered, just in case it hadn’t sunk in. “I’m not the leak, and I suppose I should have explained it at the time, but ... Well, Dad doesn’t want to upset Grandma, so we keep the fact that we’re speaking a secret.”  
  
Sitting forward, Harry finally lifted his face to Scorpius’s. “It’s really not my business what you blow your money on, although ... er ... if that’s what I think it is ... then ... er ... I do think maybe you need to have a serious think about this. I mean, yes, it’s your own life, and you’re of age, but she’s not, and speaking as her father, not as your boss now, I can only think you’re rushing this and -”  
  
Feeling a chuckle thrum in his throat, Scorpius bit his lip as he tried to stop it escaping. At last, he understood Harry’s discomfort. “They’re earrings.” He gave in to the laughter as the look of stunned horror on Harry’s face relaxed into relief. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to drag Lily out of Hogwarts.”  
  
Harry grinned, slightly shamefaced. “Sorry, but for a moment earlier, when you were talking about being disinherited if you ... er ... had a child with -” He coughed. “Not that it would ... uh ... Just explaining it to Lily’s mum might have been a problem.”  
  
“No!” yelped Scorpius, feeling his cheeks burn crimson with embarrassment. “There’s nothing to explain.”  
  
“Good.” Harry grinned again as he pulled out a wad of paper from his pocket. “Now we’ve got that straight, let’s get back to the case. I did, after I’d calmed down, read the notes from your interview with Padma. Interesting, that. About Smith, I mean.”   
  
Remembering the lack of enthusiasm in Harry’s voice when Ginny had asked him to the party, Scorpius said, “You don’t like him, do you?”  
  
“Can’t stand the bloke,” Harry muttered. “He was a git at school and a coward.”  
  
“He played Quidditch aggressively,” Scorpius replied. “And Oliver Wood reckoned he’d be a decent enough manager for England.”  
  
“You have a point here?” Harry asked.  
  
“Only that people can change, don’t you think?” He swallowed before continuing. “My last year at Hogwarts changed me. If I hadn’t met Lily, then there’s a strong chance I wouldn’t have been disinherited.”  
  
“You’d have married who Narcissa told you to?” He didn’t sound judgemental, but there was a very definite question in his voice.  
  
“Not exactly. It’s more that I wouldn’t have seen a problem, so maybe I’d have settled down with a pureblood girl, like my dad did. But ... uh ... Lily, and well, the rest of you, Teddy, especially, showed me there was a different life outside Hogwarts.” He felt his face crimsoning again, and looked at his feet. “All I’m saying is that Zacharias Smith might not be the same person you disliked at school.”  
  
“I’d certainly never have had him down as a killer,” Harry said.   
  
“Would you have thought that of anyone, though?” Scorpius asked reasonably. Harry looked away. “Oh ... you’re thinking of Dad, I suppose.”  
  
Fiddling uncomfortable with the cuff of his robe, Harry took his time before replying. Wondering if he would get an answer, Scorpius waited, his eyes trained on Harry, giving nothing away of the turmoil his thoughts were in.  
  
“How much do you know about your dad’s last years at Hogwarts?”  
  
“He doesn’t like to talk about it. I know he has nightmares, but that’s all.”  
  
Harry nodded. “Okay, well I’m not about to break confidences, but I will tell you that although I do know he could have killed, it was more down to accident than design. Faced with actually killing someone, your father backed ... I mean, he would have backed down, I’m sure.” He smiled faintly. “That look of relief on your face tells me you were worried. Did Draco know Sally-Ann?”  
  
Scorpius shook his head. “I don’t think so. He says he didn’t remember her and admits he wouldn’t have associated with her anyway. Muggleborn and a Hufflepuff - not entirely sure what was worse for him.”  
  
Snorting, Harry leant back and stretched out his feet. “We were  _all_  fairly House-bound, certainly. Ginny went out with a Ravenclaw for a while, and I had a date with one, but really, we stuck to those in our House.”  
  
“Sally-Ann didn’t,” Scorpius remarked. “Not if she went out with Cormac.”  
  
“True, but then she was trying to hide her background. Probably easier to do that with someone you don’t see all the time.” He studied the notes again. “Padma mentioned Quidditch players, I see. They’re a self-obsessed bunch, so she probably didn’t find she had to talk about herself too much.”  
  
“Smith’s out of the country with the England team,” Scorpius mused. “When’s he due back?”  
  
“Ginny’s due back in two weeks, but after the tournament, the team are staying on to play some friendlies. Good PR, apparently.”   
  
“So ...” Scorpius grinned. “Any chance of a trip?”  
  
“Not without a decent reason. All we have is hearsay from Padma that they partnered each other in Potions. Not exactly a motive for murder.”   
  
“He lives below McLaggen, though,” Scorpius replied. “So he could have planted the wand.”  
  
Harry yawned. “Only if McLaggen let him in. He has wards set around the place, and I can’t see them being bosom buddies.”  
  
“He was at that party.”  
  
“For the same reason Ginny was invited, I expect,” Harry said. “Both work for the  _Prophet_ and so have a degree of influence. Smith’s got a tough job, you know. If the team win, it’s because they played well, but if they lose it’s his fault. Anyway, I’ve asked Ginny to see what his reaction is when he gets the news.”  
  
After a while, when it didn’t look as if Harry was about to head back to the office, Scorpius again offered him a drink. He was in the kitchen, boiling up the water when he remembered who Harry had been set to interview that day.   
  
“How did it go with Davies?” he asked, returning with two mugs of coffee. “Does Flint’s alibi check out?”  
  
“I didn’t see him,” Harry replied. “The Minister called me in for that meeting, so I sent Jacob. Although, given that both Marcus and Tabitha are aware that the inheritance is more of a curse than anything else, I can’t see why either of them would want Tamara dead.”  
  
“She doesn’t want it either,” Scorpius said. Then, seeing a look of surprise in Harry’s face, he started to tell him about the visit to Hogwarts. “Sorry, I should have told you before, but ... it’s like this. When Frinkle told me about Sally-Ann being pregnant, Lily was with me. I ... uh ... ran into her and we decided to go to the kitchens for some food.”  
  
A sceptical expression appeared on Harry’s face but he said nothing, merely indicating with his hand that Scorpius should go on.   
  
“Uh ... so I wanted to check that Lily hadn’t said anything to James because I hadn’t said it should be secret, and she might have accidentally-”  
  
“Merlin!” Harry exclaimed. He started to laugh. “I bet that went down well. I’m surprised to see you’re still intact!”  
  
“Yeah, not my best move,” muttered Scorpius. “Anyway, Tamara overheard and we got into conversation. She’s very clear about it. She doesn’t want the Flint inheritance, and I don’t think she needs it. You said she was popular in the Muggle world and she lives in a big house ... So what if they’re after  _her_  money and not the estate?”  
  
Harry’s eyes lit up. “And that puts Karis right back in the frame. Good work, Scorpius. Although I’m not happy about you going back to Hogwarts. Anyone could have seen you, and if they work out where Tamara is ...”  
  
“Truckle Apparated me straight to the kitchens,” Scorpius explained, “and if anyone had seen me, well, I was there to see Lily, which isn’t unbelievable.”  
  
“But not allowed,” Harry replied, sounding stern. “Professor Vector has already made it clear that she disapproved of you being on Hogwarts grounds in the first place. If she catches you and Lily together, then it’s my daughter who’ll get into trouble.”  
  
Feeling the rebuke, Scorpius slumped back in his chair. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just that with only one Hogsmeade weekend a term...”  
  
“Scorpius, I do understand,” Harry said softly. “When I first joined the Auror department, Ginny was in her final year. Any spare moment I got, I wanted to spend with her. The thing is ��“well, this sounds bigheaded - but it helped being ‘Harry Potter’ because Headmistress McGonagall wasn’t about to land Ginny in detention, or report me to the Ministry.”  
  
“Are you telling me to stay away?”  
  
“Yep.” Then he winked. “Not that you’re going to take the blindest bit of notice, so what I will actually say is ‘don’t get caught’.”  
  
About to reply that he wasn’t sure if Lily wanted to see him anyway, Scorpius was stopped by a spluttering from the fire and Pat’s face appearing in the flames. With a beaming smile, she informed Harry that he had a visitor.  
  
“Who is it?” Harry asked, sighing as he drained his coffee.   
  
“Draco Malfoy,” she replied. “He says it’s important.”  
  
With Harry leaving first, Scorpius arrived back at the Auror Department to find that his dad had already been shown into Harry’s office. The door was closed, so he walked instead to his desk, ignoring Pat’s look of interest as he sat back down. Whatever his father had found out, it appeared Harry wanted to be the only person to know, which meant that whatever he said, he still didn’t trust Scorpius.  
  
“Harry said you should go straight through,” Pat said and lowered her voice. “I don’t think he wanted your dad to know you’d been together because he said he had no idea where you were.”  
  
Cheered by this news, Scorpius gave her a smile and sauntered towards the office, trying his very hardest to act casual, as if his presence had never been in doubt. His dad was shuffling papers on Harry’s desk when he walked in. They looked like pages from the diary, Sally-Ann’s handwriting, small and loopy sprawled across the page, a mass of tiny hearts in the margins.   
  
“As I was about to explain, Potter,” Draco said, sounding only slightly exasperated at Scorpius’s interruption, “I was able to use Geminio on parts of the diary. I would have brought the whole thing in, but it’s quite unstable if I move it from my office, so until I work my way through the curses, it’s better if you just see copies.”  
  
“Mmm, sure,” Harry muttered. “You said you’d found out who she was seeing after McLaggen.”  
  
“Quite a surprise, actually. I had no idea he was seeing anyone, let alone her.”  
  
“Who?” Scorpius asked.   
  
“Have a look,” Harry said, handing him a sheet.  
  
 **February 7th**  
 _‘Dear Diary’ - he read.  
‘He noticed me! Definitely! Their next training session is on Monday. Perhaps if I hang around outside the changing rooms, then he’ll stop and speak to me.’ _  
  
His eyes drifted to another entry.  
  
 **February 14th**  
 _‘I sent him a huge card, Charmed with flying lovehearts. I watched his face as he opened it, and he was incredibly pleased. I wonder if he knows I sent it.’_  
  
 **February 15th**  
 _‘Ughh, he spent yesterday in Hogsmeade with her. I saw them in Madam Puddifoot’s and she was practically eating his face. So gross!’_  
  
 **February 21st**  
 _‘I smiled at him today. He smiled back. I don’t think he’s with her any longer. Can’t say I’m surprised. He’s far too good for her.’_  
  
 **February 25th**  
 _‘He asked me out. Oh Merlin, Diary, he asked me out. It was incredible. He’s amazing, and wow he kisses so well! Not at all like Cormac. He told me I’m beautiful and that he wants to get to know me. To really know me. Then he started to tell me all about their last game. He’s so glamorous, and I’m sure he’s going to be a star.’_  
  
 **March 4th**  
 _‘UGH! Zach is being so annoying. Just because he’s joined Potter’s stupid group, he doesn’t have to go on about it all the time. The only good thing is that he’s so pre-occupied he hasn’t been asking questions. He’s such a prude, he’s bound to give me a lecture. But I love him, so I know this is right.’_  
  
“What happened here?” Scorpius asked, when he came to some pages heavily scribbled over.   
  
“Not sure,” Draco replied. “She appears to have wanted to get rid of the entry, but part of the magic of the book is that you can’t tear pages out. I’ve tried to lift off the scribbled ink and see what’s underneath, but nothing’s worked.”  
  
Scorpius nodded, and with Harry’s assent picked up the next page, dated almost three weeks later.  
  
 **March 21st**  
 _‘I don’t care what Zach says, I know he likes me. He might be a Slytherin, but he’s kind and he understands. And he’s the captain, so he could have anyone, but he’s chosen me!’_  
  
“Now, Graham Montague was the Slytherin captain,” Draco informed them. He half turned towards Scorpius. “I think you’ve met him. He has two daughters.”  
  
“Surprised Grandma didn’t introduce me to them,” Scorpius muttered under his breath, but it wasn’t soft enough to escape his dad’s attention.  
  
“Montague married a half-blood,” his dad replied. “He was never quite the same after the incident.”  
  
“Malfoy, if you’re going to continue being offensive, then I’ll have no choice but to-“  
  
“It’s relevant, Potter!” Draco exclaimed. “Look, the Montague I knew and played Quidditch with, was a pure-blood. His family were held in a certain regard by ... well, you know what I’m saying ...”  
  
“Get on with it,” Harry growled.   
  
“So him taking up with this Perks girl would have been unthinkable. And if what she writes in here is true, then he could have been the one who knocked her up,” Draco retorted crudely.  
  
“And when she told him, he killed her? Was it that much of a disgrace?” Scorpius asked, aghast. Now he thought about it, he remembered Montague - a tall man with a shock of brown hair, and a vague look in his eyes. He’d liked him, Scorpius recalled, largely because he hadn’t banged on and on about his Quidditch playing days with his dad, or life at Hogwarts, as Marcus Flint was wont to do.  
  
“It would have been,” Harry replied. “But he couldn’t have done it.”  
  
Scorpius turned to Harry, who was reading the diary entries over and shaking his head. “Why not?”  
  
“Yes, Potter, why not?” Draco asked. “I like Montague, but this is fairly incriminating.”  
  
Harry’s stare encompassed the pair of them. “Because we know she was at Hogwarts until the Easter holidays. Whether she got on the train is debateable as we only have McLaggen’s word for it, but she attended classes and shared a dorm right until the end of that term.”  
  
“Oh, well, that timeframe puts him in the clear, certainly,” Draco murmured.  
  
Perplexed, Scorpius looked from his Harry to his dad and then back to Harry, “Am I missing something here?”  
  
Harry pulled a face. “At the time Sally-Ann was killed, Montague was ... indisposed.”  
  
Snorting, Draco laid his palms flat on the desk and stared up at Scorpius. “To be precise, Graham Montague had been thrown into a Vanishing cabinet by the Weasley twins,” he drawled. “He turned up the following day trapped in a toilet.”  
  
“And was in the hospital wing until at least June,” Harry murmured.   
  
“But he could have got out of there - easily,” protested Scorpius. “The hospital wing isn’t a prison, so -”  
  
“Montague was so disorientated he couldn’t even put slippers on,” Draco replied. “He’d taught himself to Apparate, Scorpius, but obviously he didn’t have the requisite skill. Plus he’d been trapped for hours. I remember Pomfrey telling Professor Snape it was as if he’d Splinched part of his mind.”  
  
His dad left shortly after that, promising Harry he’d return as soon as he had any more news, but the curses surrounding the book meant Sally-Ann’s secrets were becoming progressively harder to decipher. As he left, pulling down a gaping robe sleeve, Scorpius noticed a faint outline on his father’s forearm, an imprint of a former life.   
  
“Working with Curses,” his father had once told him, as he’d rubbed his arm, “can aggravate the past.”  
  
“So why do you do it?” Scorpius, aged fourteen, had asked.   
  
“Because I’m not just good at it, I’m excellent,” he’d replied haughtily.  
  
But now, watching his father leave, Scorpius wondered if there was more to it than vanity and pride.   
  
  
Harry and he pondered over the diary entries for a while after that and debated on whether to interview Montague. But if Harry and his dad’s recollections were accurate (and it seemed likely as they both concurred) then Montague might have been the father of her child, but he could not have killed her.   
  
“He might not even remember her,” Harry muttered. “They went out for scarcely two months, and he was never the same.”  
  
“So where does this leave us? Are we any further forward?”  
  
“Well, we have to release McLaggen tomorrow. Jacob tried interviewing him again, trying to find out just who he’s had in his bedroom. But he’s saying nothing.” Yawning, Harry stretched and then started to gather up the diary extracts, sorting them chronologically. “This does confirm that she was friendly with Smith, though. At least we know that. I’ll get a letter sent to him. Hopefully he’ll reply pretty- OH!”  
  
Harry winced, and then, to Scorpius’s amazement, pulled off his wedding ring, which appeared to be glowing with heat. “Message from Ginny,” he muttered. “We use a Protean Charm. It’s quicker than an owl, or a Patronus, especially when one of us is abroad.”  
  
Walking away, Scorpius was heading for the door when Harry called him back. He turned back to the desk, watching as red charmed words appeared from the ring and settled onto Harry’s blotter.   
  
“Hell!”   
  
“What does it say?”  
  
“Smith’s done a bunk. No one has any idea where he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay.


	14. Keeping House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I should have updated this before now because it's all finished. If you're still reading, thank you.

Although hampered by distance and differing time zones, Harry immediately replied to Ginny. The messages he received back in the space of twenty minutes, confirmed that Zacharias Smith could not be located. It transpired that Ginny had been due to interview him, but when she’d turned up at his hotel, the staff there could not find him. And whilst his clothes were still hanging in the wardrobe, she’d noticed his broom had gone, along with a holdall he’d carried with him at the previous match.   
  
_‘No idea where he is,’_ she’d sent back in her last communication _‘Did not take Floo, or Apparate, so must be flying.’_  
  
“Which is bloody clever because neither our Ministry nor the South Korean one can trace a flyer. If he’s invisible, then no one can track him,” said Harry.   
  
“But ...” Scorpius shook his head. “Why would he run? Those pages in the diary make it clear they weren’t together.”  
  
“No idea. Until Malfoy decodes them, we don’t know what those scribbled pages contain. We know they weren’t _as_ close, so maybe there was a row.” Harry grimaced. “If she’d found out he was gay, then possibly that’s enough of a reason to shut her up.”  
  
“But he’s never kept quiet about that, has he?” Scorpius asked because to his knowledge Smith had always been open about his sexuality.   
  
“Schooldays are different, though,” Harry muttered. “Especially back then, whatever it’s like these days. And Smith was never popular. I certainly never knew, but then, as Hermione will no doubt tell you, Ron and I were particularly imperceptive at school.”  
  
“But ...” Scorpius hesitated, not wanting to second-guess Harry, but something was nagging him about this new train of thought.  
  
“Go on,” Harry said. “You are allowed to disagree with me, you know.”  
  
“Okay, well, the thing is,” Scorpius began. “The one part of his story that McLaggen’s never changed has been seeing Sally-Ann on the train.”   
  
Harry nodded slowly. “I thought McLaggen was just making it up to give himself an alibi.”  
  
Heartened, Scorpius continued. “Professor Sprout said all the other OWL and NEWT pupils stayed at Hogwarts for the Easter. Smith was a Hufflepuff, wasn’t he?”  
  
“Yes.” As he thought, Harry slid his wedding ring back on his finger, twisting it a little.   
  
“No one saw her come back to Hogwarts, so in all probability she was dead before she got on the train ...” Scorpius said.  
  
“Polyjuice potion,” Harry muttered. “Of course! The killer takes it, establishes that Sally-Ann is on the train, and returns to the care home. Madam Sprout probably did see the real Mrs Jessop, because she’d have believed Sally-Ann was standing in front of her.”  
  
“Should we talk to McLaggen again?” Scorpius asked. “He might remember something about that attack that could lead to the killer.”  
  
Shaking his head, Harry got to his feet. He took a breath, then lifting up his head, stared directly into Scorpius’s eyes. “I want to speak to you about something.”  
  
“Go ahead,” Scorpius said, his eyes flickering warily.  
  
Harry inhaled again. “Right, the thing is, I know you’re not the one selling the stories. I believe you, all right.” Scorpius nodded. “But it is someone in this department, or with a connection. The trouble is, I have no idea who it is, and I need to smoke them out.”  
  
“Okay,” Scorpius murmured, not really liking the way this conversation was turning.   
  
“So ... while I’m not going to actually suspend you, I do want it to look to all intents and purposes as if I’ve taken you off the Perks’ case.”  
  
“Bu-bu-but,” Spluttered Scorpius, “Harry, that was my body. I found it. I called you in. You said I’d done a great job. It’s the reason-”  
  
“I’ve let you assist, yes, I know. I will keep you updated, but for now, I want you to ... no, I _need_ you to focus on the Tamara Flint case. Read the file again and see if you can find anything incriminating. Go back to her house if you need to, okay?”  
  
He wanted to protest but knew it was futile. In Harry’s position, Scorpius was sure he’d have done the same thing. “You really believe I had nothing to do with it?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry replied simply. “But I need to know who it is I can’t trust, so let’s lull whoever it is into thinking I’m sure it’s you.”  
  
Mutely he nodded, and began to back out of the room, still despondent. He’d been there from the start and wanted this case, wanted to succeed, to prove he was more than a surname, or someone’s boyfriend. “Shall I go there now? To Tamara’s, I mean.”  
  
“No, wait until tomorrow. Meanwhile, let’s have a think about who could be leaking the stories.”  
  
“I saw James today,” Scorpius mumbled. He coughed and cleared his throat. “He was at the flat before you came over. Lily ... Lily sent him a Howler.”  
  
Harry winced and then snorted. “Bet that went down well. So what did James have to say for himself? Did he say who the leak was?”  
  
“No, but he did say the same person tipping him off also tipped off _The Seer_ , and ...” He swallowed. “I know this sounds melodramatic, but James said this person has it in for me.”  
  
Harry didn’t laugh. His lips tightened and thinned as he pondered Scorpius’s news.   
  
“Harry,” Scorpius said after a while. “The only person who’s been hostile towards me since I got here is Proudfoot.”  
  
“No!” The word was sharp, decisive, angry even, and maybe a touch defensive. “He would not jeopardise a case, whatever his personal feelings.”  
  
Biting his lip, Scorpius left the office, and returned to his desk. Shortly after, Harry dropped the Tamara Flint file on his desk with a list of things for him to follow up, adding, _‘Go to the Flints’ tomorrow. You know them, so you might be able to get information about them that they’ll never tell me.’_ Underneath that, he’d scrawled, _‘Bulstrode. She lives in. Interview her and see what she knows.’_  
  
  
  
“Why are you here?” Jonah demanded when Scorpius was ushered into the front room by the even surlier than usual housekeeper. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“Darling, be sensible. Potter would hardly have sent his clerk if something had happened to Tamara,” Karis said calmly. She lifted her head from the letter she was writing, eyed him briefly, before returning to her missive.   
  
“I have a message from your daughter,” Scorpius murmured.  
  
“Well, get on with it!” Jonah replied. He shot a look at his wife, and then lowered his voice. “Do we need to be somewhere private?”  
  
Scorpius shook his head. “Not at all. Tamara would like me to tell you that she’s willing to give up the inheritance. She wants to return to the Muggle world so feels this is the best option.” He paused and pressed his lips together. “She doesn’t want to see you, either.”   
  
His face blanching, Jonah opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He spluttered something, then looked at his wife, but Karis had calmly continued writing.  
  
“That’s preposterous,” he managed at last. “She’s a Flint. She has a duty, an obligation. She ...”  
  
“She can do what she likes,” Karis murmured, her eyes never leaving the parchment. “She’s not been a _Flint_ for nigh on twenty years. She’s Mara Stone, a success in the Muggle world, and if she wants to live without magic, then why should we stand in her way?”  
  
It sounded reasonable. But then, Karis Flint, even when angry, always sounded coldly in control. If the stories about her were to be believed, then revealing her true feelings would have seen her locked away in Azkaban many years ago. But there was something altogether too measured about her feelings towards her husband’s daughter. Scorpius remembered her assertion that none of _her_ money would finance the Flints, but how easy would that be to uphold if her husband’s heir moved back into their life?  
  
“You know she’s a success, then?” Scorpius asked, trying to sound calm.   
  
Karis dipped her quill in the inkwell, wrote one more word and then looked at him. “Do you seriously expect me not to find out all I can about my step-daughter? I know she sings. I know Muggles find her voice attractive, and she’s moderately famous in their world. Why would she want to return?” She folded her letter and added a wax seal to the paper. “Jonah, if you could find your owl, I wish to send this to Blaise this evening. His Floo appears to be blocked. You know my son, I believe,” she said, turning to Scorpius.   
  
He nodded and tried to sound casual. Karis writing to her son could be entirely coincidental, but Tamara’s presence at Hogwarts was causing him to twitch. “He was my Potions professor and Head of House. And he knows my dad.”   
  
“I don’t think I should have to make an appointment to see my own grandson,” Karis grumbled. “If they’re going to let Lavender to bring up Alexander at Hogwarts, then they should make allowances for family concerns. Merlin knows what rubbish she’ll be indoctrinating the poor boy in.”  
  
“He’s only six months old,” Jonah muttered, then cleared his throat. “Onyx is in the kitchen, darling. I told Bulstrode he needed a proper preening.”  
  
Karis glared at him. “She’s a housekeeper, not a bird keeper! I do NOT want to lose her, Jonah, so treat her with a little more respect.”  
  
“I could take that for you, if you like,” Scorpius offered, smiling slightly. “My Aunt Daphne was only talking about your housekeeper the other day, and asked if I’d pass a message on. They were at Hogwarts together.”  
  
“Really?” Sounding supremely bored, Karis handed him the letter. “Kitchen is down a flight of stairs. Tell her that we require morning tea ... for two.”  
  
Keeping his face expressionless at the obvious dismissal, Scorpius wandered out of the room, intending to head towards the kitchen. But as he left, he saw a flash of white ahead and heard heavy footsteps as someone thundered down the hallway.   
  
“Millie Bulstrode,” he muttered under his breath. “I think you listen at keyholes. So I wonder what you can tell me.”  
  
She was mixing something in a large bowl when he walked in. Red in the face, she stirred the wooden spoon vigorously, perhaps in an attempt to make him believe she’d not left the kitchen.  
  
“Why don’t you use magic for that?” he asked.  
  
She looked up, startled to see who it was, and then put down the bowl. “Cakes are better with a bit of effort put in ‘em,” she muttered. “That letter for me?”  
  
“Mrs Flint would like it sent out,” he said. “Mr Flint told her the owl was here.” He flashed a glimmer of a smile at her, wondering if charm would work. “She’s not very happy that he’s treating you as his owl handler.”  
  
She frowned and returned to the mixing bowl. “Don’t mind. Gives me something to talk to. That lot don’t bother unless they want summat.”  
  
“You were at school with my aunt,” he said casually, stepping closer.  
  
“And your dad.” Assessing him, she pointed to the kettle on the stove. “If you want information about that lot, then you can make me a cup of tea while I get on with my work.”  
  
“Was I that obvious?” he asked.  
  
Snorting, she continued to stir. “You’re just like _him_. Thinking I’ll tell you stuff just ‘cause you took a bit of interest.”  
  
Scorpius apologised and made them both tea, noticing all the while that Millicent Bulstrode kept her eyes firmly trained on him. Bringing her a cup, he pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, sipped at his drink and waited.   
  
Millicent continued to mix, her spoon working slowly round the sides of the bowl, and then she stopped, reached across the table for a tin, and began to add thick, black treacle. “Ginger cake,” she explained. “Mr Flint loves it.”   
  
“Mrs Flint told me to remind you about tea,” Scorpius said. “Would you like me to make it?”  
  
Sipping the drink he’d made for her, she grimaced. “Not unless I want to lose my job. Anyway, morning tea’s not for another thirty minutes. I think she was just trying to get rid of you.”  
  
There was silence for a while. Scorpius glanced around the kitchen, taking in the orderly way she kept it, with dishes already cleaning in the sink, and others stacking themselves in the rack to dry. A pile of freshly-laundered clothes lay in a washing basket, whilst a deep red set hung over the back of a chair, a needle carefully mending a small tear. Millicent Bulstrode was clearly expected to not only run the kitchen, but to handle the laundry and repair of clothes. No wonder Karis had been angered at Jonah’s assumption she would look after the owl, when she’d obviously commandeered her for a variety of other tasks.  
  
“So what did Daphne have to say about me?” she asked at last. “Not seen her for a while.”  
  
“She’s abroad a lot, and busy,” Scorpius explained. “My aunt was quite surprised to find you working here. She told me you were bright.”  
  
“Still am,” Millicent murmured as she spooned the cake mixture into a square tin before levitating it to the oven. “But not all of us have a family fortune, or grand connections.”  
  
Deducing that the comment was directed at him, Scorpius stared her out. Her gaze was unflinching, black eyes meeting his and not caring a jot what he thought. She had a brain, certainly, and was sharp, too. There was no point in prevaricating as he could tell she’d be far more willing to talk if he were straight with her and not devious.  
  
“Miss Bulstrode,” he began politely, then coughed to clear his throat. “We need your help.”  
  
“We?” she queried. “You mean Potter, I suppose.”  
  
Nodding, he took a gulp of his tea trying not to splutter as the heat of the liquid scorched his mouth. “Did you know Tamara Flint?”  
  
She shrugged. “Not really. I mean she was Sorted into Slytherin, and I shared a dorm with her sister ... well, I s’pose Tabitha’s her aunt, but I didn’t know that. Tab and I weren’t exactly friends.”   
  
“Does Tabitha visit much?”  
  
“Not unless she wants money,” Millicent murmured. “She did all right out of her divorce, but still comes runnin’ to her brother.”   
  
“She married ...” he flicked through his notebook, narrowing his eyes as he scanned Tabitha’s details, “er... Alexei Dobrev? He was a Quidditch player, wasn’t he?”  
  
“Mmm,” Millicent agreed. “Tab met him at Hogwarts in our fourth year. Durmstrang student, you see, and she danced with him at the Yule Ball. ‘Course they didn’t really get together ‘til years later. I don’t think her dad was keen on her marryin’ a foreigner. But Dobrev made a lot of money, and once Tab left home, there weren’t a lot he could do.”  
  
“What about Marcus?”  
  
“What about him?” She turned away, frowning as she checked the oven temperature.  
  
“You knew him, didn’t you?”  
  
“Everyone knew him. Marcus was Quidditch captain.”  
  
Her voice sounded thicker somehow, and Scorpius hid a smile. Marcus Flint was as ugly as a troll, but as Quidditch captain, he was bound to have had a gaggle of girls like Millicent with a crush on him.   
  
“Does he ask for handouts?”  
  
“He works,” she muttered, “so _she_ makes him pay rent.”  
  
“She being Karis Flint?” Millicent nodded. “That must annoy him, seeing as she’s rich.”  
  
Snorting, Millicent picked up the kettle and filled it with water. “It’s time for morning tea. You should go.”  
  
“ _Does_ it annoy Marcus?” Scorpius persisted as he got to his feet.  
  
Slowly turning to face him, Millicent seemed to consider the question, taking her time before voicing her reply. “To tell you the truth, there’s not a lot he can do about it. Madam Flint might hold the purse strings in this family, but the purse is a lot lighter than it used to be, if you know what I’m sayin’.”  
  
His eyes widened. “You mean she’s broke?”  
  
“Not for me to say,” she replied stiffly, then she pulled at her cuff, exposing a frayed edge towards him. “Only, look at my uniform. It’s gone past the stage where I can patch it with magic, but Madam Flint hasn’t replaced it yet.”  
  
 _She’s running out of money,_ he thought, _and Tamara’s rich ..._  
  
Telling her not to bother showing him out, Scorpius left the kitchen and quickly made his way to the front door. As the house was in a Muggle street, he couldn’t Apparate directly back to the Ministry, but it was a short walk and despite the Muggles crowding the streets, he was able to hurry back to the office.  
  
  
Proudfoot was there, sitting at his desk, reading a report. His eyes flickered as he perused Scorpius and for a brief moment, Scorpius thought he saw a flare of real animosity lurking in them.   
  
“Where’s Harry?” Scorpius asked, ignoring the hostility.   
  
“Going through the release procedures with McLaggen,” Proudfoot replied, his tone neutral. “Where have you been?”  
  
“The Flints.” He bit his lip and glanced towards the door, wondering whether to find Harry and tell him about his suspicions. But Harry had told him to keep away from the Perks’ case, at least until the next leak. “Any idea how long he’ll be?”  
  
“No. Why, is it important?”  
  
Shrugging, Scorpius sat at his desk, and pulled out a notebook. “Not sure. Just something the housekeeper said.” He frowned as he tried to think how to phrase his notes, sifting through what was pertinent and what was maybe nothing. “You went to see Roger Davies, didn’t you, Jacob?”  
  
“I did. Why do you ask?”Proudfoot responded defensively.  
  
“No need to bite my head off,” Scorpius muttered under his breath. “Just checking up on Marcus Flint’s alibi.”  
  
“Oh ... uh ...” Proudfoot faltered, then after shuffling through the papers on his desk, pulled out a typed sheet. “Davies confirmed Flint’s itinerary. He was in Europe, and was due to leave for Asia tomorrow, but has pulled out.”  
  
“Pulled out?”  
  
“So Davies said. He’s annoyed, but Flint said he couldn’t go as he had family obligations.”  
  
Musing over Flint’s sudden desire to spend time with his family instead of earning money, Scorpius barely heard Proudfoot’s next pronouncement. He glanced up. “Sorry, what did you say?”  
  
“I said Roger Davies told me that he was making the trip instead, so if you need any more information regarding Marcus Flint, then tell me now.”  
  
“Oh!” Scorpius sat up in his chair, surprised that Proudfoot was offering to help. But then, this was work, and Harry insisted that no matter what feelings he held for Scorpius, Jacob Proudfoot would not jeopardise a case. “Uh, I can’t think of anything off-hand. This schedule covers all we needed really.”  
  
“Right, well you know where I am,” Proudfoot muttered.  
  
They worked in companionable silence for a while, Scorpius writing up his notes, whilst Proudfoot appeared to be reading the Felix’s autopsy report again. Scorpius tried not to grimace; he knew the Tamara Flint case was important, but it was a wrench that he couldn’t be involved with the murder.   
  
Two paper planes flew through the door, level pegging, before one turned left to Proudfoot, and the other swooped towards Scorpius. He snatched at it, quickly unfolding the missive, and noting that Proudfoot seemed rather more cautious waiting for the plane to land on the desk to unfold in front of him.   
  
_‘Did you find out anything new from Flints? Did you get to speak to Bulstrode?’_ Harry had written. _‘I want your report by the end of the afternoon.’_  
  
“Harry needs something from the Archives,” Proudfoot said. He got to his feet, picking up his wand to slide inside his robes, and smiled grimly. “Can’t understand why we’re releasing that prat. If he’s not saying how the wand got there -” He tailed off and shook his head, sighing as he got to his feet and wandered out the office.  
  
Trying not to feel hard done by, Scorpius busied himself with the Flint case. The way he saw it, Karis Flint now had everything to gain by her stepdaughter’s death. Not only would she rid herself of another dependent Flint, but if Tamara died, her money would go to her next of kin, in this case her father. And by association, Karis, who had never shown much reticence for being a widow.   
  
But, and this was the big drawback, the attempts on Tamara’s life might have started off as measured and well-planned, but the last had been reckless, and clumsy in its execution, hitting Pat instead of the real target.   
  
Reckless and clumsy did not sound like Karis at all.  
  
 _Unless she has an accomplice._  
  
Jonah wasn’t as bright as Karis, but was he as ruthless? Would he kill his daughter to save his home, to keep the estate afloat? Karis had said he was stupidly protective of all the Flints. But would that protection extend to a girl he hadn’t seen for nineteen years, and one of ‘inferior’ blood?  
  
An owl landed behind him. He heard the flurry of its wings, but didn’t turn, not yet, not while he was still puzzling over the Flints. He’d need to check alibis; everything would need to be watertight, for Karis had been suspected before of murder, yet had walked away with no blame attached.   
  
The owl hooted. “Yes, all right, I’ll be with you in a minute,” he muttered.  
  
Hooting again, the owl hopped onto his arm and gave a sharp peck.  
  
“OW! All right, I said ... Oh ... Pomme, it’s you!”  
  
Lily’s owl stared balefully at him. It had not been a friendly peck, asking for a treat, but a sharp one. “She’s been talking to you, then,” he said and sighed. “I know I’m an idiot, but she should have come back to the kitchen and then I could have ... Ow!” The bird pecked again. “Okay, hand over the message. I’m prepared for whatever she wants to accuse me of.”  
  
But Pomme carried no message. Fluttering off Scorpius’s arm, he landed on the desk, stared beadily at the quill, and then stuck his leg out.  
  
“Ah, you want me to apologise.” He thought about refusing. A year ago, he probably would have done, and for a different girl, he would definitely have stood his ground, but Lily was different, and he knew he should have apologised before now.  
  
Reaching across for a sheet of parchment, he began to write.  
  
 _‘Lily,  
I was a prat. I was worse than a prat and I’m truly sorry for ever thinking you’d have spoken to James. No, I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re one of the sharpest people I know, and it’s certainly not your fault that your boyfriend has been idiotic enough to let things slip to your brother.  
I want to see you, to apologise properly, so if I get hold of Truckle this weekend, can we meet up in the kitchens again?’ _  
  
He paused, wondering how to finish off. Pomme clucked his beak impatiently. “I’m nearly done, all right!”  
  
 _‘Missing you, very much.  
Your stupid boyfriend,  
Scorpius.  
PS: James told me you sent him a Howler. I think he’s torn between being annoyed and being impressed at your skill.’_  
  
“There, you feathery fiend,” Scorpius murmured when he’d finished. Rolling up the parchment, he attached it to Pomme’s leg. The owl didn’t move. “Go on, get back to her!”  
  
Pomme clucked his beak, and again pecked at Scorpius’s hand, but it was a softer peck this time.   
  
“Ah, owl treat,” he muttered, and opened his draw. Handing over a few dried apple slices, he chuckled as Pomme got one stuck in his beak. “Serves you right for being so greedy.”  
  
The owl tried to hoot, but contented himself with staring morosely at Scorpius before he hopped across the desk. Stretching his wings, Pomme twirled a little in the air and headed for the door. Scorpius watched him fly, amused that such a small owl could cause so much havoc as he swerved into the paper airplanes heading to all departments.  
  
“Bloody hell!” someone from the corridor bellowed. “I thought owls weren’t used at the Ministry. What the hell has it dribbled on me?”  
  
Bustling to his feet to apologise, Scorpius prepared to placate the visitor. Then he stopped. Grasping his wand firmly, but not yet brandishing it, he pulled his face straight before letting the man enter the office.   
  
The wizard, sweaty in the face, and not looking at all his usual dapper self, did not appear to notice, but walked straight towards the water fountain. “It has been a bloody bitch of a journey, and will be bloody longer going back, so I’d like to see Potter.” He looked up, facing Scorpius for the first time. “You were at my party, weren’t you?”  
  
“Yes, I was,” Scorpius replied, his voice level. “Might I ask, Mr Smith, why you’re here?”  
  
“ _The Daily Prophet_ I managed to get hold of is at least a week old,” he replied as he splashed some water on his face. “Or I’d have returned sooner, but it says you’ve found Sally-Ann.” With disdain, he picked up a paper towel, dried his face, and then peeled the apple slice off his robe. “She was my friend, my only friend at Hogwarts, so I want to know if what they’re saying is true. Was she murdered?”  
  
“It looks that way,” Scorpius said cautiously.   
  
From under his robe, Smith pulled out a more recent edition of the _Prophet._ “It says you’re holding someone.”  
  
“Uh ... sort of. Mr Smith, I really can’t talk about this to you.”  
  
“Then find Potter. I knew her, and knew her well. She confided in me, so ...”  
  
A wintry expression crossed his face, and his eyes glimmered, not with the water he’d splashed on his face, but unshed tears. Tears for a girl who’d died far too young and many years before. It was, thought Scorpius, the first signs of real grief he’d seen for Sally-Ann Perks. Hannah Longbottom had felt guilt, but no real sense of loss. McLaggen had been sad, but more concerned for his own skin. Sally-Ann had been a faint memory for him, a girl he’d once dated, but to Smith she’d been a friend.   
  
“Mr Smith, please take a seat. I’ll make you a coffee -”  
  
“Tea,” Smith interrupted. “Milk, no sugar.”  
  
As he sat on the proffered chair, his robes rode up his legs, exposing a dusty but well-made pair of shoes. Expensive, Scorpius thought inconsequentially, for his father had a similar pair. Then it struck him, and he wondered how he could have been so blind, except that no one could have expected... no one could have thought ... because ...  
  
“On second thoughts, I’ll take you to Harry now,” Scorpius announced. “He’s dealing with a prisoner and should be back soon, but who knows if he’ll get distracted by something else.”  
  
Looking only slightly surprised, Zacharias Smith rose and followed Scorpius out of the office. He kept up the chat, hoping no one stopped them, and explained that the interview rooms were along the corridor.  
  
“He’ll be interested in your input, Mr Smith. We’ve been struggling to find anyone that knew Sally-Ann as well as you appear to have done.”  
  
“She wasn’t popular,” Smith agreed. “This person you’re holding-”  
  
“In here,” Scorpius interrupted, ushering Smith into one of the smaller interview rooms. It was one not often used and Scorpius could see Smith’s nose wrinkle as he smelt the stale air, but he’d picked it deliberately. “Harry should be finishing up now. We’re releasing a suspect, so he’s running through the paperwork with the advocate.”  
  
“The murder suspect!” Smith exclaimed. “But how can you - what grounds - surely you must have had some evidence to bring him in, in the first place.” He broke off, incoherent with blustering fury, hurting and desperate for revenge. Scorpius swallowed, then took a cooling breath, hoping he had not mis-read anything. For if Smith saw who they were holding, and Scorpius was wrong ...  
  
The door creaked open. Hermione appeared first, clutching the case file, talking to Harry in her ‘professional’ voice. “My client’s argument is, why should he help, when every time he has, you’ve used it as an excuse to hold him for another night? If you want access to his memories, then you will have to apply to the Wizengamot. And I will continue to represent him there. He is not the only one who knew Miss Perks, after all.”  
  
Smith moved swiftly, only Scorpius’s quicker reactions prevented him from appearing in the corridor. “Who the fuck is it?” he hissed.  
  
And then McLaggen appeared. Rubbing at the week-old beard growth on his face, he looked less assured than he had in his office, but there was still plenty of the old swagger about him.   
  
“No,” whispered Smith. “Mac, no.”  
  
“Harry,” called Scorpius, not yet letting go of Smith’s arm. “You have a visitor.”  
  
Three people swivelled their attention his way. Harry started in astonishment, Hermione raised her eyebrows, but Cormac McLaggen stared at Smith in alarm.  
  
“I didn’t do it,” he pleaded in a hoarse whisper. “Zach, I didn’t, but they found her wand-”  
  
“Be quiet!” ordered Hermione, instantly on the alert. She snapped around to McLaggen, murmuring, “What’s going on, Cormac?”   
  
His eyes flickered from Hermione, to Smith, then back to Hermione as he mouthed words, unable to speak.  
  
“My office,” she muttered. “We can talk there.”  
  
“Just a minute,” Harry interrupted. “Hermione, if your client has something to add to his statement, then it’s his duty to tell us.”  
  
At Harry’s words, McLaggen quickly recovering his composure. “There’s nothing to talk about.”  
  
Carefully, Scorpius took a slight step backwards, loosening his grip on Smith’s arm to leave McLaggen within the other man’s reach.  
  
“What’s this about a wand?” Smith demanded as he grabbed McLaggen’s arm. “Is it _her_ wand? Tell me!”  
  
Harry stepped between them. “We found Sally-Ann Perks’s wand in McLaggen’s school trunk. He won’t tell us how it came to be there. But perhaps, Smith, as you live so close, then you have some idea-”   
  
“We’re neighbours!” McLaggen snarled. “That’s all. He couldn’t have planted it in my bedroom.”  
  
Smith let go of McLaggen’s arm and slumped against the corridor wall. Heaving a sigh, he tore his eyes away from McLaggen’s face, and turned his gaze on Harry, his face now grey with weariness. “I came back to Britain to talk to you about Sally-Ann, in the hope it would help. Unfortunately, I don’t know anything about her wand. And as Mr McLaggen has made it very plain, I have not had the pleasure of entering his bedroom.”  
  
McLaggen noticeably relaxed. Hermione pursed her lips, while Harry watched Smith, puzzled.  
  
Clearing his throat, Scorpius stepped out into the corridor. “That’s not true though, is it,” he said clearly.  
  
“What isn’t?”Harry asked, frowning.  
  
“Uh, not sure this is the right place to talk, but when I went to search McLaggen’s flat, I noticed a few things.” McLaggen looked at him warily, as if coiled to spring into action, but Smith seemed far too tired to react. “Like expensive shoes, for instance, and closets bursting with tailored robes, which don’t appear to be your taste at all, McLaggen.”  
  
“I have newspaper functions to attend,” protested McLaggen. “I don’t always dress like this, Malfoy!”  
  
“A downstairs flat that looks like a show house,” continued Scorpius, remembering Smith’s party, “but shows no sign of being lived in. And an old Quidditch magazine, featuring the contenders for the England position, on the bedside cabinet.”  
  
Before Harry could stop him, McLaggen had launched himself across the corridor, grabbed Scorpius by his robes and shoved him against the wall. “What the hell are you implying?” he yelled.  
  
“For fuck’s sake, give it up, Mac,” Smith said in an achingly tired voice. “No one will care, no one at all, except your poxy father.”  
  
He stretched out to touch McLaggen’s shoulder, and at that moment, McLaggen dropped his hands from Scorpius’s robes.  
  
“But this will ruin you!” McLaggen hissed. “I thought you understood.”  
  
“I won’t let it,” Smith replied. Pulling McLaggen away, he turned to Harry and Hermione. “Cormac can’t face his dad finding out about us, so I’m asking you to treat this with utmost discretion.”  
  
“You’re together.” Harry stated, his voice neutral. “As in ... a couple?”  
  
Zacharias Smith grimaced. “Is that distaste I can sense? Is it _that_ much of a shock, Potter?”  
  
Harry shot a look at Hermione before responding, “A surprise, Smith, that’s all.” Stepping away from the door, he gestured to the interview room. “McLaggen ... uh ... Cormac, you’re free to leave, but it would greatly assist our case if we could talk to the pair of you now. And I promise we will be discreet.”  
  
“I’m tired,” snapped McLaggen. “I need a bath and some decent food inside me.”  
  
“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice sounding strangely flustered, “can we do this later?”  
  
Harry sighed. “Sure. If you two could spare some time tomorrow morning, I’d be grateful. Smith, will you stay?”  
  
He nodded and then squeezed McLaggen’s arm. “That’s why I came back. Sally-Ann was my friend, Mac. I need to know what happened.”  
  
“Then I’ll stay,” McLaggen replied, and glared at Scorpius. “But for Merlin’s sake, get me some decent coffee, will you?”   
  
Gesturing them towards the room, Harry hung back, touching Scorpius lightly on the arm. “I told you to keep away from this case,” he murmured. “That stunt you pulled could have gone very badly wrong.”  
  
“Harry, please, it worked, didn’t it? McLaggen’s finally admitted who his mystery lover is.”  
  
“Which is why I’m not reprimanding you,” Harry replied. “You took a chance, and this time it paid off, but next time you might not be so lucky.”  
  
“And that’s always stopped you, has it?” Scorpius questioned.  
  
Harry laughed wryly. “Just don’t rely only on instinct, especially regarding people ... or relationships. It’s not _always_ right.” He peered through the door, still smiling as he watched Hermione sit beside Smith, filling him in on the case. “My sixth year, Hermione went to a Christmas party with McLaggen, purely to make Ron jealous. It was a tossup, she said, between him or Smith. Godric, I wish I hadn’t promised to be discreet. Ron would love this, although he’d need a Draught of the Living Death to get him to stop laughing!”


	15. Money Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ba-dum. I'll try and update this more regularly. At least once a week, so you can keep up easily. Sorry, I kind of got disheartened, but it is all finished.

To give himself something to do other than brooding on not being in the interview, Scorpius took the lift to the Ministry cafeteria. The coffee was better there, and he supposed he should get something for McLaggen, for making the man own up to his secret. As he waited for the wizard behind the counter to fetch cream, he pondered why McLaggen seemed so in fear of his father.   
  
“Is that for me?”   
  
“Uh-” Looking to his side, he saw McLaggen approaching. “Well, actually it’s mine, but I was planning on bringing a tray to the interview room. Mr Smith looked as if he could do with a mug of something strong.”  
  
“Buy me one, will you?” McLaggen asked, with more than a hint of a demand.  
  
Scorpius considered refusing, but McLaggen had stepped away to find a table, so he ordered another coffee and took the seat that McLaggen kicked towards him.  
  
“I’ve been sent out to cool down. Bloody Potter’s now accusing Zach of murder. And I’m still considering tearing you apart for bringing him here,” McLaggen muttered fiercely.  
  
“Not when I’ve just bought you coffee, surely,” Scorpius replied as he added cream to his drink.   
  
Close up, McLaggen looked as rough as a Dugbog. His hair, now dirty blond, stuck up in all directions, his clothes were creased and sweat stained, and his bloodshot eyes narrowed as he studied Scorpius. He took a sip of his coffee, then another, before saying, “Word is you’ve been disinherited for screwing Potter’s daughter. Is it true?”  
  
“Partly,” Scorpius said, deliberately not rising to the provocation. “Is this about money, then?”  
  
McLaggen shook his head. “My father has made it very clear he won’t be leaving any of us a Knut. He’s a self-made man, and wants us to be the same.” Shrugging, he took another drink. “I earn enough, so it’s not a problem.”  
  
“Then what is the problem?” Scorpius asked, and then shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not my business.”  
  
McLaggen waved a hand dismissively at him. “Carry on, I don’t care now.”  
  
“If this has nothing to do with money, then why can’t you tell him? He can’t fire you, can he?”  
  
“He can advise, but that type of decision is up to the proprietor, Coriolanus Gamp,” McLaggen replied. “I was a journalist once, you know. Used to report on all the Quidditch matches, but got ‘relocated’ when Ginny Potter joined the paper.”  
  
“She says you’re very good at your job,” Scorpius said, remembering the party.   
  
“I am, which is why neither Dad nor old man Gamp, will fire me.”  
  
“Then why are you so determined to keep this all secret? I mean, you must have been together a while now. Two years, at least, as you’ve moved in together,” Scorpius persisted. He was pushing his luck, and McLaggen was perfectly within his rights to stop talking, but he continued, perhaps needing this chance to unburden himself, without Harry or Hermione present.  
  
“It’s been _twenty_ years, on and off,” he said, a wry smile appearing on his lips when Scorpius spluttered on his coffee. “You’ve been disowned for having a girlfriend who’s a half-blood, yes?”  
  
“Mmm.”  
  
“My dad became the editor just after the Battle, you know, and he’s always been _so_ active in promoting the equality of blood, running campaigns, writing scathing editorials, pursuing justice against the Death Eaters. But he hates poofs,” McLaggen said bitterly. “He tries to hide it. Makes a big deal about being so fucking liberal, but he’ll ruin Zach if he finds out about us.”  
  
“How could he do that? No one cares that Smith’s gay, do they? It’s a non-issue.”  
  
“Not for my dad and those of his generation - even for a lot of mine. Dad would get the reports slanted, or write damning editorials. Every time England loses a match - and of course, they will -he’ll make sure Zach gets the blame. He’ll be ridiculed; all the old stories will surface, until he’s out of his job faster than a Firebolt chasing the Snitch.” He leant across the table, his blue eyes meeting Scorpius’s with utmost sincerity blazing from them. “Zach is a great manager, he could be world-class, but not if he’s harried out of this chance by a malicious newspaper campaign.”  
  
Scorpius studied him in silence for a while, wondering what he could say. It was one thing to be disowned (albeit in name only) when you had a future ahead of you, and friends fighting your corner, but from what Scorpius knew, Zacharias Smith had never been popular. Perhaps it had been that fact alone that had drawn him to Sally-Ann.   
  
“Harry won’t say anything, you know,” he murmured. “But ... er ... if you want my opinion ...”  
  
“Not really, but I expect you’re going to give it,” McLaggen replied, an edge to his voice.  
  
“Pre-emptive strike,” Scorpius said and smiled as a look of confusion wreathed McLaggen’s face. “If you catch the Snitch before the Bludgers have been released, then it’s game over.”  
  
“Still not sure what the bloody hell you’re on about, Malfoy.”  
  
“Come out. Give the _Prophet_ or _The Quibbler_ an interview, and stress how supportive your dad’s been.”  
  
McLaggen raised his eyebrows. “Worth considering,” he muttered, then sighed. “I should get back. Potter wants a list of people who could get into the bedroom, although neither of us can remember anyone. Secrecy becomes so ingrained after all these years that I don’t think either of us have let our guard down.”  
  
He knew he shouldn’t question; he wasn’t part of the case, after all. “You’re positive Smith didn’t put the wand in your trunk, then?”  
  
“You sound like Potter,” McLaggen said coldly.   
  
“Someone put it there,” Scorpius said reasonably. He stopped abruptly, as the memory of a man in Diagon Alley accosting him and accusing McLaggen assailed him. “Someone _is_ trying to frame you ...”  
  
“Not Zach.”  
  
“Then panicked when we didn’t charge you,” Scorpius murmured to himself.   
  
“No,” McLaggen’s voice was quiet, anger simmering.  
  
“You’re very sure.”  
  
“Zach is pedantic. He’s arrogant, self-important, and a complete tosser at times. He’s a lot of things, but he’s _not_ a murderer,” McLaggen replied with certainty. “He can’t kill. It’s ... it’s like the one thing he truly fears is being responsible for another’s death, any death. Perhaps that’s cowardice, I’m not sure anymore.”  
  
“There are worse faults,” Scorpius agreed.  
  
As he rose from his chair, draining his cup with a satisfied gulp, McLaggen smiled. “Ginny Potter said I was good at my job, did she? When was that?”  
  
“I was at Smith’s party. Not sure you noticed me as I was talking to Oliver Wood most of the night, and you were occupied with - Oh!”  
  
“Hmm? Who was I occupied with? Don’t remember much except the stinking hangover the next day.”  
  
“There was a girl, well, two, actually. You were talking to them.”  
  
“Yeah, I do talk to people, even girls. It is allowed, you know. Besides, Zach knows I’m not -”  
  
“No, no, I don’t mean that. But I’ve seen one of them since. Long dark hair, in her twenties, reasonably attractive, and she laughed at your jokes.”  
  
McLaggen shrugged. “You’ve just described half the Quidditch groupies around,” he replied caustically. “Is it important? ‘Cause really I don’t remember every witch I talk to, Malfoy.”  
  
“Not to this case,” Scorpius muttered. He sat back in his chair, staring at the wall, not even registering McLaggen’s departure.  
  
He’d seen the witch from the party talking to James in the pub. She’d been familiar then, but he didn’t think that was why he’d recognised her. There had been something else about her, something that to his frustration would not work its way through the tangled web of thoughts in his head.   
  
  
  
“Right, we’re back to square one!” Harry declared as he walked back into the office. “I’ve released McLaggen with no charge, so the Prophet will be split between smug appreciation and vilifying me for being an idiot.”  
  
Behind him, Scorpius heard Proudfoot screwing up a sheet of parchment and launching it at the opposite wall. “But we had him! There was evidence! He went out with the girl, for Merlin’s sake! And we found the wand in his trunk.”  
  
“Explained away,” Harry said. “Jacob, I know it’s hard, but we’ll get the culprit. You, more than anyone, knows that sometimes it takes time. Meanwhile, I’d like you to go and interview Graham Montague.”  
  
“Montague?”  
  
Harry frowned slightly, as he scribbled out an address. “Yes, the victim’s boyfriend after McLaggen. I left you a note about it.”  
  
“You want me to bring him in!” Proudfoot exclaimed, getting hurriedly to his feet. “Yep, on my way.”  
  
“No, just talk to him. Montague can’t have done it, but he might remember something. “  
  
“Right, on my way.” With a curt nod, Proudfoot Summoned his cloak, a quill, and a notebook. Scorpius watched him, waiting for a look, or a smug smile, or some snide remark, but instead the older Auror left the office quietly.  
  
“Did you say something to him?” Scorpius asked Harry.  
  
“About what?” Harry asked, his voice sounding vague as he flipped through the Flint file.   
  
Shaking his head, Scorpius got up and followed as Harry walked into his office. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”  
  
Sitting at his desk, Harry scrutinised Scorpius’s notes, and the report. “So Karis is running out of money?”  
  
“According to Bulstrode she is.”  
  
“Is it true?”  
  
“I ... er ... don’t know,” Scorpius said, feeling stupid. “She’s not going to admit it, is she?”  
  
“So,” Harry said, hitting him on the arm with the file, “we need to find out some other way, don’t we!”  
  
“Uh ... well, I could ask around. Lavender might know, or Professor Zabini...”  
  
“Zabini is not going to give up his own mother,” Harry murmured. “Scorpius, think! Where will you find out the most about the state of Karis Flint’s finances?”  
  
“Gringotts?” Scorpius replied. “But they won’t let us check, will they? They promise confidentiality for everyone.”  
  
“If we have a good enough case, then I can make an application to examine her account. Before then, no, we can’t even approach the goblins with our suspicions.” Harry licked his lips. “I could ask a favour of someone I know working there, but I’m not prepared to jeopardise this person’s position and the case by asking too early. The goblins dislike wandholders at the best of times, but they reserve a particular dislike for me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Uh ...” Harry grinned, and his face flushed a little. “For proving their defences weren’t infallible, I suppose. Anyway, you won’t get anything out of the goblins until we’ve built a better case against Karis.”   
  
Scorpius frowned; to build a case against Karis Flint, he needed better evidence. Bulstrode’s supposition wasn’t enough, but maybe a family member might just be willing to help. Jonah had only showed unwavering loyalty to his wife, and Marcus was too beholden to her, but there was someone else they hadn’t had the pleasure of talking to yet.   
  
  
Blythe Folly was a small hamlet in Surrey, a mile away from the town of Ryesfield. As far as Scorpius could tell when he arrived, there was very little magical activity in the area. This puzzled him because he couldn’t imagine a member of the Flint family wanting to live amongst Muggles. But magical areas were more expensive, and maybe Tabitha Dobrev really was down on her luck. None of the villagers that he asked directions from appeared to know who she was, which could have been because she’d only moved the month before, or maybe it was her disinclination to get to know any of her neighbours. Thanking the old man at the bus stop, who knew of Tabitha only because he’d caught her boys in his garden, Scorpius made his way across dirt track lane towards her house.   
  
The cottage was picturesque from a distance, with a quirky chimney and a wooden fence surrounding a small front garden. Close up, Scorpius could see the fence was rickety, the garden overgrown and the chimney was only quirky because it was balanced precariously on top of the roof.   
  
Although her home didn’t look poor to Scorpius, it was far from grand. It reminded him of the cottages on the Malfoy estate, places to live for the estate workers. Not at all what he expected for Tabitha Flint, whose husband had made it big in Quidditch, first by playing and then as an agent.  
  
 _Ex-husband,_ he corrected himself. There’d been a divorce two years ago, he remembered from the file. Tabitha had left their home in Hungary and returned to England with her twin sons.   
  
Bulstrode had said she’d done ‘all right’ out of her divorce, but as Scorpius studied the unholy mess of the front garden, and the brickwork with its patchy rendering, he wondered if that definition of ‘all right’ was skewed by her own circumstances.   
  
With determination, he stepped over a clump of thistles peering between the broken paving stones, and strode up to the front door.  
  
“I’m not buying anything!” shouted a female voice. “There’s no point in calling, so just go away as I’m not opening the door.”  
  
“Mrs Dobrev?” he called.  
  
“Possibly,” came the reply. “Who wants to know?”  
  
“My name’s Scorpius Malfoy.”  
  
There was a silence and then he heard her fumbling with the bolt on the door. It creaked open slightly, a chink of her face and a fluff of hair appearing in the gap.   
  
“I’m with the Auror department.”  
  
“Mmm, I know.” The door closed, but it was only to unhook the chain, and then it swung open. “I was wondering when you’d get around to me. Come in.”  
  
Not showing any surprise, he stepped over the threshold and was pleasantly surprised by the inside of the house. Tabitha’s front garden might have been a mess, and the cottage ramshackle, but the interior was immaculate. Smoothing down the skirts of her robe, Tabitha ushered him towards a door on the right. He glanced at her, taking in the likeness to Jonah, that of good looks barely fading with age, and the lack of a resemblance to Marcus. She was dark blonde, unlike her brothers and Tamara, but everything else about her - demeanour, features, voice - screamed Flint.  
  
“Go through to the lounge,” she said, ushering him from the hall. “Would you like a drink? I might even have a beer somewhere.”  
  
“Uh...” He checked his watch; it was barely two-thirty. “Not for me, thank you, Madam Dobrev.”  
  
She shuddered. “I don’t use my married name. It only serves to remind me what a ghastly mistake I made.”  
  
“Madam Flint, as I said, I’m from the Auror department and I’m here to ask you some questions-”  
  
“About my sister, or rather niece, I imagine,” she said drily as she sat at the other end of the sofa. “I could make you a cup of tea if you’d rather.”  
  
“Uh ... no, I’m fine. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about your sister-in-law.”  
  
“That old bat, why?” Tabitha frowned, her mouth setting into a pout. Then she smiled, her eyes excited. “Is someone trying to do her in? If so, where do I send the congratulations card?”  
  
“You don’t like her much, do you?”  
  
“I don’t like her at all,” Tabitha snapped. “I _thought_ she was all right. I thought she’d at least understand my predicament, but -”  
  
“Mama!” screeched a voice from another room. “Thomas has taken my broom.”  
  
Gritting her teeth, Tabitha stood up. “Excuse me,” she muttered and left the room.  
  
On his own, Scorpius gazed around the room. There was a pile of what looked like netting on an old armchair in the corner, and a mannequin head sat in the middle of a table in the corner. Tabitha had swathed the head in a pale blue silk fabric, winding it into a turban. He grinned as he tried to imagine his mum wearing it, but despite the colour, it wasn’t her taste at all.   
  
There followed a flurry of noise, Tabitha trying to calmly explain to one child (Thomas, Scorpius presumed) that they had to share the broom.  
  
“Joe should use his own!” screamed a boy’s voice.  
  
“You broke it!” Joe replied indignantly. “Mama, why can’t you buy me another?”  
  
“We can’t afford it,” Tabitha snapped. “If the pair of you can’t share, then I’ll take this one away as well!”  
  
The door slammed; the boys’ voices were much quieter, and then she reappeared in the room.  
  
“Brothers!” she said, raising her eyebrows. “They wouldn’t be without each other, really.”  
  
“I wouldn’t know,” Scorpius replied.   
  
“Oh, that’s right. You’re an only child. Sometimes I think your mother had the right idea. One child must be so peaceful,” she said, sighing as she flopped back on the sofa. “Anyway, what did you want to know about Karis?”  
  
He made a show out of taking out his notebook and flicking to the relevant page, then fixed her with a serious look. “You asked her for some money recently.”  
  
“I asked her for a loan, yes, but the cow refused.”  
  
“Did she say why?”  
  
“The usual. How she’s sick of bailing out Jonah’s relatives, how we should stand on our own feet. Oh, and she had a pop at me for getting divorced. The cheek of it. At least my ex is still alive!”  
  
“Has she given you money before?”  
  
Tabitha considered, and nodded her head, almost reluctantly. “A little. She gave me a few hundred galleons when I first moved back to England with the twins, and Alexei was refusing to pay up.”  
  
Something didn’t add up. Bulstrode had told Scorpius that Dobrev provided for Tabitha.   
  
Waving her hand impatiently, she turned to him. “Look, I wasn’t after a handout, you know? I could understand if Karis didn’t want to _give_ me money, but I did think she’d be willing to invest in a business.”  
  
“Business?”  
  
“Hats,” she declared, gesturing to the mannequin. “It was something I did in Hungary to stop me getting bored out of my brain, and I was good at it. The old matronly witches loved me, and they have money to splash out. So, I thought I could open a shop over here, and still fly them abroad. But I need money for start up costs. I tried the goblins but their rates are extortionate.”  
  
“And Karis refused, did she?”  
  
“Mmm, she said it was my lack of experience, but ... well ... Jonah spoke to me afterwards, and made some excuse that they were having a cash-flow problem. Personally, I think it was just an excuse. Karis has never liked me.”  
  
Hearing another crash from the room next door, Scorpius decided this was his cue to leave, and thanked Tabitha for her time. She grimaced as she stood, and rolled her eyes as the quarrelling continued.   
  
“Does your husband, sorry, ex-husband, not pay you anything, Madam Flint?” Scorpius asked when they reached the front door.  
  
“He does. At least he does at the moment,” she muttered. “But that will change in two years time, which is why I need the money.”  
  
He must have looked puzzled because she smiled slightly and carried on. “My loving ex has said he’ll support me and the children until they’re eighteen.”  
  
“Uh, that’s good, isn’t it?”  
  
“But _only_ if they attend Durmstrang,” Tabitha replied sharply. “Otherwise, he’ll stop all payments as soon as they start Hogwarts, and sadly the law in this country can do nothing about it.” Her lips had thinned, pressed into one firm, hard line. “I thought Karis, as a mother herself, might understand.”  
  
The two boys burst out of the room, howling with laughter as they tore up the stairs. Scorpius watched them through the banisters, full of excess energy and high spirits. Beside him, Tabitha’s smile reappeared, and he caught the sight of unshed tears in her eyes.   
  
“I won’t let that happen,” she muttered, “which is why I’m determined to set up the shop.”  
  
“Will you go back to Gringotts?” he asked.  
  
She shook her head, and led him out into the front garden. “I sold our house in London and bought this. When I’m ready, I’ll rent premises in Diagon Alley. But at the moment, when not refereeing Tomas and Josef’s squabbles, I’m buying stock, sketching designs and creating all manner of headwear. And along the way, I’ll make sure my sister-in-law is _very_ sorry she missed the chance to invest!”  
  
  
Karis Zabini was broke. Scorpius was sure of it. She had a motive, but now he needed to find evidence that she’d been at the scene of the crime.  
  
He Apparated directly to Tamara Flint’s house, landing firmly in the kitchen. From what he could recall, nothing here had changed. But even so, he muttered, “Homenum Revelio,” relieved when the spell showed no other presence in the house. It was eerie being back here, sure as he was that someone was definitely aiming to kill Tamara. Upsetting too, because now Scorpius knew her and realised that despite their sniping, he rather liked her.   
  
From the kitchen, he searched the rest of the house, taking his time to peer into each room. It looked clean, too clean, perhaps, with highly polished furniture, no sign of dust, and everything tidied away. Moving back to the kitchen, he noticed the mug that had been in the sink, was no longer there.  
  
The sound of keys in the front door made him jump, but then he smiled. A would-be- assassin would hardly be using a set of keys.   
  
“Mara, is that you?” he called out, realising he’d have to bluff this out as best he could.  
  
“Oo are you?” demanded a female voice from the hallway.   
  
“Friend of Mara’s,” Scorpius said as he wandered out to greet her. The woman was in her fifties, plump, with greying hair curled into submission around her face. With her unmade up face, and sensible shoes, she was clearly comfortable in this house and not a crazed fan.   
  
“Wot’s your name, then?”  
  
“Scorpius Malfoy,” he replied.  
  
“Wot sort o’ name’s that!”  
  
“Stage name,” he replied quickly. “You’re Mara’s cleaner, aren’t you? Yes, she mentioned you. Quite the treasure, she said.”  
  
“I do me best,” the woman replied. “Where is she, then? On another tour?”  
  
“Staying with friends. She asked me to pick up some things for her.”  
  
The woman frowned at him, eyeing him from head to toe. “Why are you wearin’ a dress?”  
  
“Uh...”   
  
“Oh, don’t tell me. It’s your stage costume or somefink. You artists,” she sighed and started to shake her head. “I don’t know wot the world’s coming to. Well, I can’t stand ‘ere chattin all day, some of us ‘ave proper work to do!”  
  
“Mara’s away, though,” Scorpius said. “What cleaning can you do?”  
  
She laughed, a short chirrup from her throat. “I’m catching up on all the stuff I couldn’t do last week. Gawd, the state she left this place in. Must ‘ave been some party!”   
  
“Party?” he queried. This time last week, Tamara had long since fled the house and had not been back. The house when he’d been here had been tidy, and any evidence cleaned away. But if what the cleaner was saying was true ...  
  
“What mess?” he asked. She stiffened. “I’m not saying there wasn’t any, but if Mara needs to pay you extra, Miss... er ...”  
  
“Chuffley,” she replied, mollified. “And it’s missus.”  
  
“Mrs Chuffley,” he began with a smile. “Could you show me where this mess was?”  
  
“‘Er lounge, mainly, and the bedroom. Drawers emptied, cupboards open, clothes all over the floor. I ‘ad backache all weekend from all the bendin’ down I ‘ad to do.”  
  
Without a word of explanation, Scorpius left her in the hallway and marched directly to the lounge. From under his robe, he twitched his wand, non-verbally checking the room for any vestiges of magic. There was nothing by the windows, the hearth, or the plush red sofas. But as he turned his attention to the bookshelves, his attention was caught by a bureau in the corner.   
  
“Was this touched?” he asked.  
  
“It was open!” she informed him, sounding huffy. “And in a right state - papers everywhere.”  
  
“Is it usually locked?”  
  
“’Ow would I know?” she asked indignantly. “I am not the sort to snoop, Scropios, Scorpio, or whatever fancy name you call yourself.”  
  
He ignored her and bent down over the bureau, studying it carefully, not just for magic, now, but for anything that might lead him to the suspect. Running his hand down the side, his fingers halted as they hit a small split in the wood. He peered closer, then a grim smile lit his face. There in the crack was a sliver of material, just threads really, dark red. Taking a quick snap with the camera, he removed the threads and set off back to the office.  
  
  
“She has a robe this colour!”   
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
“Yes! It was in the kitchen. Bulstrode was mending it for her.”  
  
“It might not have been Karis Flint’s robe,” Harry said. He gestured for Scorpius to sit down, clearly not liking the sight of him pacing floor of his office.  
  
Scorpius shook his head vehemently, yet did take the chair. “They were too short for Jonah or Marcus.”  
  
Picking up the sliver of material, Harry smoothed it between his finger and thumb. “Silk, possibly,” he murmured. “Too expensive for a housekeeper.”  
  
“So, can we bring her in?”  
  
“Mmm, but only for an interview,” Harry warned, and raised his hand to stop Scorpius from leaving. “Look, the protracted chat we had with McLaggen could still blow up in our faces. I’m not saying we’re going easy on Karis, but that woman is a damn sight cleverer than Cormac. We need an airtight case against her before we make a move.”  
  
“But if she’s broke,” Scorpius exclaimed, “Jonah’s in line to inherit and this proves she’s been in Tamara’s house. Karis knows all about Mara Stone. She told me as much herself.”  
  
“Why would she do that?” Harry said.  
  
“Double bluff,” Scorpius retorted. “She knew we’d find out she’d been asking around, so she tells us first.”  
  
Laughing, Harry stood up. “That’s why I need you on this case, Scorpius. You think like a Slytherin and are far too sneaky for me. We’ll ask her to come in, but don’t hold out any great hopes. Karis has chewed and spat out greater Aurors than the pair of us. There’s plenty of gossip about her, but _nothing_ has ever been proved.”  
  
 _First time for everything,_ Scorpius thought. He tried not to smile, but he could feel excitement thrumming inside of him. This was why he wanted to be an Auror: discovering motives and piecing together each clue gave him a high as intense as any Quidditch match.  
  
  
It was as he was packing up for the day, and trying not to feel hard done by when Proudfoot strode into Harry’s office to brief him on Montague, that Hermione appeared. No longer in her work robes, she’d changed into a skirt and blouse, and her hair hung loose about her shoulders.   
  
“I’m meeting Ron for a drink and wondered if Harry wanted to join us,” she explained. “He won’t admit it, but he misses Ginny enormously when she’s abroad, and it’s worse now that James has moved out.”  
  
“Don’t think he’ll be long,” Scorpius replied.  
  
“You could come along too, if you’d like,” she said. “I owe you a drink.”  
  
“Er, why?”  
  
“You must have emollient powers, Scorpius. I don’t know what you said to Cormac in the cafeteria, but he returned to that interview in a much calmer state of mind. He even let Harry ask Zacharias a question without interrupting.” She laughed slightly. “Funny how things work out, isn’t it? I would never have thought it of Cormac. He was always so ... so ... aggressively straight at Hogwarts.”  
  
Smirking, Scorpius buried his face in the files on Karis Flint he was stacking on his desk in preparation for tomorrow. “Did you know him well at school?” he asked casually.  
  
“Not really, but we -” She broke off when she heard him snigger. “Oh, I can tell Harry’s been talking to you!”  
  
“What have I been saying?” Harry asked, walking from his office. “Jacob, get the notes typed up in the morning. There’s no hurry.”  
  
“No, I’ll do it tonight. I like to make sure my desk’s clear,” Proudfoot replied, sitting heavily in his chair.  
  
Scowling, because he was sure that was a reference to his own desk, Scorpius picked up the files. “I’ll take these home with me.”  
  
“No, you won’t,” said Hermione. “I’ve invited you and Harry for a drink, and I mean it. I think we both owe you one.”  
  
“Why?” Harry asked, as he walked to the door “Not that I’m objecting to a drink, or buying him one, but why in particular?”  
  
Hermione smiled, waited for Scorpius to grab his cloak, then the pair of them joined Harry in the corridor. “Because Scorpius is a very clever boy,” she murmured. “Not only did he placate my client, but you’ll be interested to know Cormac has agreed to let you use his memories.”  
  
His eyes widening, Harry inhaled sharply then smiled broadly. “That is brilliant news!”  
  
“Uh, why?” Scorpius asked, bemused.  
  
“You said it, Scorpius. The only part of McLaggen’s story that he didn’t change was the attack on the train. He’s just agreed to let me extract that memory for examination,” Harry declared, the smile not leaving his face. He turned back, intent on heading to the office.  
  
“There’s a condition,” Hermione interrupted, placing her hand on Harry’s arm.  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“My client isn’t convinced you’ll be unbiased, Harry, and let’s face it, there’s no love lost between you and Cormac, or Smith come to think of it. So, although he’s said he will let you use the memory, he wants an independent witness.” She stopped speaking and turned to Scorpius. “He wants _you_ there, which is why I think Harry owes you not just a drink, but a very large drink.”  
  
Harry’s expression flickered, but then he nodded. “Not a problem. Okay, Scorpius, let’s get round to his place now, then we can -” He bit his lip. “We need the Pensieve. I must send an owl to Headmistress Vector to ask her permission, then McLaggen can -” Harry said wildly. “If we go now, we could-”  
  
“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “Slow down, will you? Cormac has agreed to let you use the memory, but you mustn’t push your luck. He’s been held on a ridiculous charge for a week now and is exhausted. Plus he wants to find someone else to extract the memory.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Probably because he seriously doesn’t trust this department not to blab, and is worried about what else you’ll look at,” she remarked caustically. “Look, if it helps, I’ve told him I’ll do it.”  
  
“And he’s agreed to that?” asked Harry.  
  
“He’s considering it. To be honest, Harry, I can’t see him replying tonight. He’s free, with all charges dropped, so knowing Cormac, he’ll be out getting incredibly drunk somewhere.” Laughing at the impatience on his face, Hermione linked arms with Harry to drag him away from the office. “Come on, let’s meet Ron, and toast Scorpius. It’s just possible you have a break in this case, isn’t it?”  
  
Smiling ruefully, Harry allowed her to lead him towards the exit. Scorpius followed, feeling only slightly awkward. Still wary around Ron, who instinctively seemed to see him as a Malfoy first rather than Scorpius-Lily’s-boyfriend, this wasn’t his idea of a relaxing drink after work. However, Hermione had invited him, Harry had willingly agreed, and not only did they have a break in the Perks’ case, but he knew the net was closing around Karis Flint.


	16. The Widow

The quick drink after work had turned into a few and a meal at the Leaky Cauldron, so it wasn’t until gone eleven that Scorpius returned to his flat. Fetching himself a glass of water before he collapsed into bed, he noticed a message from Ben propped on top of a small scroll. ‘Letter from Lily. Her owl didn’t stay.’  
  
Unsure whether it was a good or bad sign that Pomme hadn’t waited, he tentatively unfurled Lily’s letter. It was short, and to the point.  
  
 _‘It’s the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff match on Saturday.’_  
  
“Oh great, so I’m being thrown over for a bloody Quidditch game!” he grumbled, knowing full well he might have done the same when he was a player. Scowling he started to screw up the message, intent on throwing it in the bin, when he saw she’d written something on the back.  
  
  
 _‘Which will make it even easier for us to sneak around. See you at three in the kitchens, and then ... who knows?  
All love  
Lily  
Xxx  
PS: Is there any chance Truckle could be persuaded to make me some Apple Puffs?’_  
  
He laughed, fully cheered now because he knew that for Lily to give up watching a match meant he’d been forgiven.   
  
Because he was exhausted from his hectic day, and now didn’t have Lily’s anger preying on his mind, Scorpius fully expected to have a good eight hours solid sleep before the morning. What he hadn’t counted on were the dreams threading through his head. Not nightmares, there was nothing scary about them, but the vision of the witch at the party swam into his mind, laughing at him, and McLaggen’s derisory voice, ‘Is it true you’re screwing Potter’s daughter?’.   
  
Waking in a sweat, Scorpius gulped at his water. It was after three in the morning, so he settled back into his pillows, praying this time he’d manage four solid hours sleep before he had to get up.  
  
But now the image changed. It wasn’t the witch from the party who appeared but another dark-haired girl, her face half in shadow. In her hand, she held a wand of pale wood and was murmuring, but the words were too quiet for him to hear.  
  
“Who are you?” he whispered.  
  
She turned fully, then, and he understood. Pretty and with a soft, secret type of smile, Sally-Ann Perks was trying to tell him something.   
  
“Tell me!”  
  
But the image blurred, and the only thing remaining was the wand.  
  
  


***

  
  
“May I look at the evidence again?”  
  
Harry looked up from his cup of coffee, not nearly as bleary-eyed as Scorpius felt. “The Flint evidence? Sure. Has something else happened?”  
  
“No, sorry, I mean the Perks’ evidence,” Scorpius whispered, and closed the door to Harry’s office behind him. “Look, I know I’m not officially on the case, but I remembered something. It’s been bugging me since the search, but now I know what it is.”  
  
After a pause, Harry gave a curt nod. “What do you want?”  
  
“Photos from the search.”  
  
Upending his in-tray, Harry pulled out a thick envelope, pulled out a stash of photographs, and spread them on the table. “Which ones?”  
  
Scorpius scanned through them, his eyes and fingers only stopping when he reached the photographs he’d taken of McLaggen’s trunk. The memory came back to him, of Proudfoot opening the trunk and the dust clouds. Pulling out another photo of the wand, he handed the pair of them to Harry.   
  
“I don’t remember the wand being dusty. Everything else was, but if you look at this picture, it’s practically clean, whereas all his books and papers are thick with dust.”  
  
“Meaning it hadn’t been there long,” Harry murmured. He sighed. “But we knew it had been planted on McLaggen, so this doesn’t really get us any further forward.”  
  
“No, Cormac told me that he and Zach were very guarded about their secret. McLaggen had to dismantle the wards to allow us to search, didn’t he?”  
  
“Go on?”  
  
“But the night of the party, there were no wards. Ginny and I walked straight into the front door, and other people took the Floo.”  
  
“That was to Smith’s place, though.”  
  
“Mmm, I know, but ... what if by dismantling the wards on Smith’s flat, they accidentally lowered the ones on McLaggen’s, too?”  
  
His eyes lit up, and with an approving nod, Harry reached for his quill and a sheet of parchment. “I’ll contact Smith, and find out just who he invited. You make another list. There’s always a ton of gatecrashers at these things, and you might just remember someone that Smith doesn’t.” He stared at Scorpius. “ _Have_ you remembered someone?”  
  
“Er ... yeah ... it might not be connected, but there was a witch there, talking to McLaggen. She ... er ... knows James.”  
  
“Girlfriend?” Harry asked slowly.  
  
“Not sure. She was talking to him in the pub the night of my birthday.”  
  
“How old?”  
  
Scorpius thought carefully. “Twenty four? Twenty-five, maybe?”  
  
“Too young to be connected with the Perks’ case, so why are you mentioning her?”  
  
“Because she’s familiar, somehow. McLaggen doesn’t remember her name, but I wonder if she’s the _Prophet’s_ source.”  
  
Harry’s eyes flickered. “Familiar in what way? Do you think she works at the Ministry?”  
  
“I really don’t know. It’s just a strange feeling that I know her from somewhere.”  
  
“It’ll come to you,” Harry assured him. “You remembered your concern about the wand, so this will come back. But for now ... concentrate on the Flint case.”  
  
“Are we bringing her in?”  
  
“Yes, later this morning. So, until then, go through all those files again and see if she’s ever been suspected of using poison. Meanwhile, I’m going to check Sally-Ann’s wand. Jacob collected it, didn’t he?”  
  
Scorpius thought back to the search. “Yes, and he sealed it in a charmed casing, but I had to remove it so Mr Ollivander could identify it.”  
  
“Okay. That’s not too much of a problem, because you took plenty of photographs, and I can see, even under mild scrutiny, that the wand is looking remarkably clean. ” Suddenly Harry grinned. “This is the part I love, you know? When all the pieces start to fit together. We’re not at the end yet, but I can see a way through. With McLaggan’s memories, Millicent Bulstrode’s suspicions, and Tabitha Dobrev’s evidence, we’re closing in with both cases, Scorpius. I can feel it.”  
  


***

  
  
  
Chester Zabini had been Karis’s first husband, Scorpius discovered. He’d died almost a year after they married, leaving behind a very young widow with a six-month-old son. Meaning, Scorpius realised, that his former professor had either been born prematurely, or else Karis had been pregnant before the wedding. Examining the picture of Chester on his wedding day, Scorpius saw a florid man with white hair and a huge smile on his face. From what he could see, the son bore little resemblance to his father, but then Blaise Zabini strongly favoured his mother not just in colouring, but with a certain sharpness of features.  
  
Husband number two, Archibald Macdonald, had lasted little longer. They had celebrated their wedding anniversary in Italy, where he’d choked on a nut whilst Karis had been out sightseeing. She’d been a widow, for the second time, at the age of twenty. The luckless Macdonald had been four times her age, and richer than Chester.   
  
There had been nothing to alert the Law Enforcers to the possibility that either death had been suspicious. Both men were old. Chester, it appeared, had an underlying heart condition; Archibald had been unlucky. And husband three, Maximillian Lestrange, had clearly married Karis on a whim, leaving her all his money instead of his nephews who were locked in Azkaban, and were thus unable to appeal.   
  
  
Husband four, Bernard Boot, had been a little younger than the others, being a warlock in his fifties, but he’d not lasted much longer, surviving three years of wedded bliss with Karis before he, too, headed for that magical world in the sky. This time, there’d been nothing natural about it. As a Chudley Cannons enthusiast, he’d taken his young wife and stepson along to cheer his team and had been hit by a Bludger. It remained on record as one of the Cannons most unlucky matches. Their Seeker had been about to make the catch, and thus win the point, when Bernard’s death caused the match to be abandoned. Karis had been hysterical with grief, but had retained the presence of mind to sue the Cannons and once again add to her fortune.  
  
  
It was husband number five where the authorities began to take notice. Karis had met and married a man of influence. Tiberius Crouch had once been talked of as a future Minister, but an untimely divorce from his first wife had put paid to that, as had the disappearance of his mistress a short while after. Eighty-three when he married Karis, after a whirlwind romance, he’d died four months later. She had been twenty-six at the time, her son nine, and had spun the story of arriving home to find her husband gasping for breath. Acting instinctively, she’d tried to keep him awake by walking him around the room, but that had exacerbated his condition and he’d died in St Mungo’s three hours later. Poison was suspected, especially as the contortion on his face suggested he’d been in immense pain, but there was no trace of any known poison, and nothing to link Karis to the crime. Tiberius’ son, Bartemius, had called in a favour from the Law Enforcers, and Karis had been thoroughly investigated. It had never gone to trial, Scorpius noticed. Although there seemed to be evidence against her, no charges were brought. The Auror in charge, Rufus Scrimgeour, had declared there was no case to answer, but a short initialled message in another hand had left the simple legend: ‘Watch her’.   
  
“Harry, who was A.M.?” he asked.  
  
  
“Alastor Moody, probably,” Harry replied. He looked over Scorpius’s shoulder at the file and nodded. “Mmm, he worked here at the time. Suspicious as hell over everyone and everything. A lot of people thought him a nut case, but his instincts were sound. Interesting that he thought her guilty; I wonder if he pursued it.”  
  
“Do you remember Tiberius Crouch?”  
  
“No, I would have been about eight at the time and didn’t even know I was a wizard. I knew his son, though, and it doesn’t surprise me that he fought to have her investigated. Rigid upholder of the law was Barty Crouch - when it suited his own purposes.” He paused and read further notes on Karis Flint’s chequered life. “Husband six ... she waited a while, then. Zabini would have been at Hogwarts.”  
  
Scorpius nodded and read on. Ladislaw Le Soto had had no family, and had never married before. In his early sixties, he’d moved Karis into his London house after they’d married, then he’d spent a large part of their married life together alone in his home country of Belgium. Karis would appear on his arm at various functions, but that was all. It appeared to be a mutually beneficial arrangement and the servants reported no arguments or any discord between the pair. But Ladislaw died a year and a day after they’d married, his heart giving out in the night as Karis slept. Again, the Auror department had investigated; again, Scrimgeour dismissed the claims.  
  
“What was this Scrimgeour bloke like?” Scorpius asked.  
  
“Incorruptible,” Harry muttered. “There’s no way he’d have let her walk, unless ...”  
  
“Unless what?”  
  
“It was for the good of the wizarding world. This Le Soto character doesn’t appear to have been particularly influential, so that could be why he decided not to pursue the matter. Or else, he was influential in a whole other way, and getting rid of him was exactly what Scrimgeour wanted.”  
  
  
“Husband seven was Marcellus Fudge,” Scorpius read out. “In his eighties, died within five months. Didn’t appear to be unhealthy, but had bleeding in the brain according to the Healers. Could she have caused that?”  
  
“No idea,” Harry murmured. “It wasn’t investigated, at least not thoroughly, but then Cornelius Fudge had just been ousted from power, Scrimgeour was the new Minister, and Mad-Eye was no longer an Auror, so possibly no one was bothered that Fudge’s uncle had just died. Poor sod.” He sighed. “And husband eight is Jonah Flint. The only one younger than her, the only one poorer, and the only one who’s survived. Perhaps it really is love.”  
  
“Until he runs through all her money.”   
  
“You’re a cynic, Scorpius,” Harry said. “Which is good if you want to be an Auror, but it’s important to remember that sometimes things really are what they seem.”  
  


***

  
  
Karis Flint stared at Scorpius with something approaching amusement in her eyes. She’d agreed to an interview, refused legal representation, and told Jonah to expect her back soon. Dumbfounded, he’d protested furiously, but her placatory words and the casual manner in which she accepted Harry’s request, quieted him almost immediately.  
  
“I’m surprised you haven’t brought me in before,” she remarked. “Your department and I have a history, after all.”  
  
“This isn’t about history, Madam Flint,” Scorpius replied.  
  
“And yet, you have a stack of files in front of you which bear the names of my former husbands,” she said, and yawned just as Harry walked into the room. “My word, you even have dear Bernie Boot there. Surely you cannot possibly hold me responsible for a mistimed Bludger!”  
  
“Bludgers can be Charmed, Karis,” Harry stated. “But, no, we’re not here to discuss the death of Bernard Boot, but the attempts on Tamara Flint’s life.”  
  
There was no reaction beyond a sharp narrowing of her eyes, her senses now on full alert.   
  
“Why would I wish to harm the girl?” she asked. “We’ve already established that the Flint house means nothing to me. And anyway, if Jonah dies with no heir, I would inherit nothing. Marcus on the other hand ...”  
  
“She’d be a drain on your finances,” Harry continued. “Or rather, another drain. Your husband likes to support his family, doesn’t he?”  
  
For a fleeting moment, she looked annoyed, but then her features smoothed into insouciance. “Don’t you support yours, Potter? I’m sure you wouldn’t deny anyone you’re connected to a hand-out if they were desperate.” She smiled again, turning her gaze to Scorpius. “The Flints aren’t the Malfoys, after all.”  
  
“But they’re not your family, Karis. You have Blaise, that’s all,” Harry interjected before Scorpius could react.  
  
“And my grandson Alexander,” she replied. “My money will not go to the Flints. They know that.”  
  
“Do they know you’re -” Scorpius started to say, but Harry quelled him with a look.  
  
Shuffling forward in his chair, he pulled out the report on Tamara from the bottom of the pile. “Scorpius tells me you made enquiries about your step-daughter.”  
  
“Of course. I’d be a fool not to. Another Flint vying for money was not what I needed.” She sounded bored, an image extended when she started to examine her nails. “She doesn’t seem like them, fortunately. Perhaps she means it when she says she’s not coming back.”  
  
“Did your enquiries extend to visiting her home?”  
  
“No,” she said firmly. “I didn’t need to. It was easy enough to read Muggle newspapers.”  
  
“So you’ve never been anywhere near her house?”  
  
Karis frowned. “I’ve already told you that.”  
  
“But you know where it is,” stated Harry with confidence.  
  
“I know the address,” she conceded. “Potter, if all you have on me is that I made some enquiries about the girl, then you have absolutely nothing. I shall leave now.”  
  
“Someone attempted to poison Miss Flint,” Harry said.  
  
Not even pausing, Karis rose from her chair, picked up her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You have nothing on me because I’ve done nothing wrong. There’s not even a motive.”  
  
“Must be expensive running the Flint household,” Harry murmured, and glanced at Scorpius.   
  
“Jonah doesn’t work, does he?” Scorpius said, picking up the cue. “But Marcus does, and he pays you rent.”  
  
“I did not marry Marcus, so why should I pay his way,” replied Karis, and for the first time the amused expression left her face. “Potter, if this is about money, then you really need to train your little assistant with more finesse. I am well off. I may not own the house in London, but that is not important to me.”  
  
“Well-off, are you?” Harry pounced. “That’s not what we’ve heard.”  
  
“I believe gossip is inadmissible in a court of law.”  
  
“It’s not gossip,” Scorpius blurted out. “I spoke-”  
  
As Harry froze, Scorpius wished he could gulp back the words.   
  
“You spoke to whom?” Karis said, very slowly. She sat back in her chair, fixing Harry with a cold stare. “Gringotts prides itself on its confidentiality.”  
  
“You know your law, Madam Flint,” Harry muttered. Taking a breath, no doubt to calm himself, he leant his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “So I expect you’re also aware that when a case has been brought and laid before the Wizengamot, we are able to access accounts if it pertains to the charges.”  
  
“You have no case, Potter. All you have is a mountain of files, and a perceived motive that only exists in your mind.”  
  
“Madam Flint - Karis,” Harry said smoothly. “Indulge me, will you?”  
  
“Is that an improper suggestion, Potter? I’m surprised at you,” she laughed.  
  
He smiled back. Scorpius watched, interested in the tactics Harry was pursuing.   
  
“Hypothetically, you understand,” Harry began, “If I had it from a source that you were not as ‘well-off’ as you claim to be, what would your reply be to that?”  
  
“Hypothetically, I’d laugh in your face, Potter, and suggest you stop using that source.”  
  
He splayed his hands on the table. “You see my problem, though, Karis. I have information about a suspect, and I have a victim that I must protect.”  
  
Karis leant across the table, a small sly smile on her face, her eyes flicking from Harry, to Scorpius, then back to Harry. “Then I suggest,” she hissed, “that your clerk sticks to making coffee instead of trying to interview suspects. You might find the culprit then, instead of wasting my time. If all you have is a rumour, then you’ll find it’s nothing.”  
  
“Yup, you’re right,” Harry declared and leant back in his chair. “Especially as you’ve told us you’ve never been in Tamara’s house. You did say that, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” she replied, emphasising her boredom with a yawn.   
  
“Then how come my ‘clerk’ discovered threads from your robe at the house?”  
  
“What!” Her head whiplashed back to face him. “That’s impossible!”  
  
Producing the threads, and the photograph of them hitched into the bureau, Harry smiled at her. “Do you doubt my department’s integrity, Karis?”   
  
“That could be from anyone’s robes,” she retorted. “Or from Muggle clothing! I am not the only person in the world who wears that colour, Potter!”  
  
“But you are the only person in the Flint household whose dark red robes have needed to be repaired recently,” Scorpius put in. “I saw them hanging in the kitchen.”  
  
“So!” she snapped, but there was a glimmer of worry in her tone now. “Do you never snag your clothing, Malfoy? There was a small rip in them, I have no idea what happened, so I told Bulstrode to mend them over a week ago.” She laughed bitterly. “Oh, I see, this is more evidence that I’m running out of money. Would it have been better if I’d thrown them away and bought new? Or would that have been a stronger sign of my guilt?”  
  
“It’s a sign that you were at Tamara Flint’s house,” Scorpius said.  
  
His interruption, far from riling her, seemed to settle Karis back into her comfort zone. “No, it is a sign that someone wearing that colour was there. This is what I believe is called circumstantial evidence, so I will leave now.”  
  
To Scorpius’s surprise, Harry did not try to stop her. He rose, and walked with her to the door, offering to escort her to the nearest Floo point. She gave him a withering look, and walked down the corridor without waiting for him.   
  
“Before you ask,” Harry murmured. “She’s right. I have nothing to hold her on except the threads, and we haven’t definitively matched them to her robes.”  
  
“I mucked up, didn’t I?” Scorpius said dejectedly. “I shouldn’t have said we knew about the money.”  
  
Sighing, Harry stopped in the doorway and turned back to face Scorpius. “It wasn’t your best move, no, but she knows we know and ...”  
  
“And what?” he asked, waiting for the next platitude.  
  
“She’s hiding something. She was definitely surprised to hear we had information about her finances.”   
  
A sudden scream rent the air, ripping towards them. Harry sprinted off down the corridor, already withdrawing his wand. Scorpius, not far behind, caught up with him and together they followed the sound of the continued scream and now shouting as an argument commenced. Rounding the corner, they sped up as they approached the sight in front of them.  
  
Karis Flint was pinned against the wall, Jonah’s hand around her throat. His mouth spitting fury, his eyes bulging, and from the look of her torn sleeve, he’d obviously hexed her.   
  
“IT WAS YOU! YOU’RE TRYING TO KILL MY DAUGHTER!”  
  
Sprinting now, Scorpius scorched past Harry to try to wrench Jonah away before he throttled Karis. Yet there was no fear in her eyes, only anger. Unable to reach her wand, Karis raised her knee sharply to his groin, and then, when he released her throat, she slapped him hard across the face, ripping open his cheek with the heavy ring she wore on her middle finger.  
  
“You dare!” she seethed, her voice a mixture of rasp and outrage. “You dare raise a hand to me!”  
  
“Potter,” Jonah gasped as he staggered back to the opposite wall, pulling Scorpius with him. “It was her. I know now. We found this.” He threw a book to the ground. “And once she told me -”  
  
“ _Silencio!_ ” Karis hissed, whipping her wand in the air.  
  
“Let him speak,” Harry warned, now brandishing his own wand.   
  
She held his gaze, then, with reluctance, cast the Counter-Curse, releasing Jonah from his silence. “Whatever he says is hearsay.”   
  
Bending down, Scorpius picked up the book from the floor. He raised his eyebrows as he handed the book to Harry.   
  
“’Exotic Potions and Poisonous Plants’. Is this your book, Madam Flint?” Harry asked.   
  
“Herbology always interested me, Potter, and having left school too early to finish the NEWT, is it any wonder I decided to further my reading?”  
  
“Reading? Is that all?”  
  
“She’s used it,” Jonah insisted. “Ask her about Tiberius Crouch.”  
  
“Ask Jonah about the girl his father had to pay off. Ask him why he didn’t return to Hogwarts for his seventh year. Ask him about Durmstrang!”  
  
Allegation and counter-allegation flew across the narrow corridor, Jonah’s voice blustering and angry, Karis much calmer now as she piled on the pressure. From where he stood, in grabbing distance of Jonah, Scorpius saw Harry’s eyes flick from one to the other, and then to the book.   
  
“Mr Flint, where did you find this?”  
  
“It was concealed. You know the house used to belong to Muggles?” Harry nodded. “Well, they had a few places in the brickwork where they used to hide their valuables. Bulstrode happened to be dusting the bookshelves and she accidentally released a lever. A brick moved beside the hearth and revealed this.”  
  
“I did _not_ put it there,” Karis protested, but she sounded on edge now as she stepped closer to Harry. “I do own that book. I’ve had it for years, but I’ve never hidden it.”  
  
“I’ve never seen it,” declared Jonah.  
  
“It was on the bookshelf in the drawing room, in plain sight, darling,” she drawled. “Only I’ve never seen you take an interest in reading, so it’s hardly surprising you never noticed it before.”  
  
Scowling, Jonah lunged at her, but Scorpius was ready and grasped him firmly by the arm. “She’s trying to provoke you. Guess what? She’s winning.”  
  
“Scorpius, take Mr Flint to a holding cell to cool off,” Harry said. “Then join me back in the Interview room. I think we need to carry on our chat, Karis.”  
  
“On his word?” she demanded. “Potter, you have _nothing_ on me!”  
  
“Motive, definitely. Opportunity, possibly. Means?” He held up the book. “Very likely! If you would like legal representation, then Scorpius can arrange it before he returns.”  
  
“One of your Ministry poodles?” she scoffed. “They’ve been after me for years! Madam Weasley is your friend, Potter. Just how unbiased would she be?”  
  
“He can contact someone else,” Harry offered as he took her by the arm, nudging her forwards. “It doesn’t have to be a Ministry advocate.”  
  
Karis looked back over her shoulder, shot her husband a look of disgust, and then stared at Scorpius. “Fetch my son.”  
  
  
With a swift nod, Harry signalled to Scorpius to do as she bade. “The professor might not be able to get here straight away,” Scorpius said, thinking of lessons.  
  
“Then you might as well throw me into a cell,” Karis replied. “I am not saying a word until Blaise is here.”  
  
But instead, Harry walked her back to the interview room, leaving Scorpius to march Jonah into a holding cell.   
  
“You can’t seriously be locking me up,” he protested.  
  
“You could have killed her,” Scorpius replied, removing Jonah’s wand with more force than necessary.   
  
“ _She’s_ trying to kill my daughter,” Jonah said slowly, as if explaining to a three-year-old.  
  
“Apart from the book, do you have any other reason for suspecting her?” Scorpius asked. He sat on one of the hard chairs, leaving Jonah to sit on the lumpy mattress on the narrow ledge that passed for a bed.   
  
“Ask her about Tiberius Crouch,” muttered Jonah. “Or Marcellus Fudge, or the one before him - Belgian, I think.”  
  
“She’s been investigated before, Mr Flint,” Scorpius said. “Her past can’t be called new evidence, and it’s not relevant to this case.”  
  
“Crouch was poisoned, and you said someone tried to poison Tamara. You make the link, Malfoy!”   
  
“Already made,” Scorpius muttered under his breath. Standing, he pushed the chair back into the corner. “If that’s all you’ve got, Flint, then you’re not telling us anything new. There’s no real motive here, is there? Why should she suddenly decide to kill Tamara? ”  
  
“Money. Why else?” Jonah raised his eyes from the floor, staring at Scorpius with utmost sincerity. “Tabitha asked for a loan, she wants to start a hat shop, and Gringotts rates are extortionate. I said yes, but Karis refused. Then she showed me the details of our bank account. It’s not pretty.”  
  
 _And you’ve just found yourself with an older wife who’s no longer wealthy._  
  
“You don’t work,” Scorpius said, and smiled a touch mockingly.   
  
“Never needed to,” Jonah blustered. “I manage the house, and look after the Flint investments. Karis likes to travel, so there wasn’t any point in me getting a job if we were taking off every other month.”  
  
Biting his upper lip in an attempt to stop from sniping that Jonah was a parasite, Scorpius left the holding cell. He slammed the door and double locked it, feeling more than a hint of satisfaction at Jonah’s indignant shout.   
  
  
Harry was waiting for him in the corridor when he returned. “Did he say anything else?”  
  
“Told me she poisoned Crouch, and we should also look at Fudge and Le Soto. But ... uh ... he’s confirmed she’s running out of money. Said she showed him the accounts. If he swears a statement to that effect, then that should enable us to get an authorisation for Gringotts, shouldn’t it?”  
  
“As he’s her husband, and there’s a definite paper trail, then yes. Good work,” Harry whispered and patted him on the back. “Now, send an owl to Zabini.”   
  
“I could take the Floo,” Scorpius offered.  
  
Harry smiled lopsidedly, and a tiny glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes. “She’s refusing to say a word until he gets here, and we need a little more time to go over these files, so send him an owl, but ... uh ... it doesn’t have to be one of the faster ones.”  
  
“Sneaky!” Scorpius gaped, more than impressed.   
  
“Oh yes, well you Slytherins don’t have the stranglehold on cunning, you know,” Harry murmured. He turned his attention back to the door of the interview room, and with his wand slid the two bolts to lock. “For the sake of all her dearly departed husbands, let’s make their widow, Karis Zabini-Macdonald-Lestrange-Boot-Crouch-Le Soto-Fudge-Flint, sweat a little, eh?”  
  
With a grin and a jaunty nod, Scorpius set off to the Ministry Owlery, composing a note in his head as he walked. He liked his ex-professor, and didn’t want to rile him, but he knew Harry was right and Karis needed to stew a while.   
  
“Scorpius, one more thing!” Harry’s voice halted him, and he turned in the hallway to see his boss approaching.  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“I had a word with Jacob about Sally-Ann’s wand, and although to his recollection the wand was as dusty as everything else -” Harry whispered.   
  
“It wasn’t!” Scorpius said, aware he’d raised his voice and was sounding irate.  
  
“Calm down,” Harry replied. “I said that was his recollection. Your memory is different, possibly because you weren’t as close to the trunk. Anyway, that’s not important. What matters is that the photographs back you up. The wand was clean, Scorpius, which means it _was_ only very recently planted on McLaggen.”  
  
“So ... uh ...” Scorpius fidgeted, shuffling his feet, as he wondered if Harry would answer his question.   
  
“Uh, what?”  
  
“What are you doing next on the case?”  
  
“You hate being away from it, don’t you,” Harry said, and sighed. “Okay, I suppose I did promise to keep you in the loop, even if secretly. Jacob’s going to test her wand with the Priori Incantatum Charm to see if we can get any clue as to who she last met. In the meantime, I need you to keep your wits about you. Karis is a tricky customer and she’ll be doubly enigmatic once Zabini gets here.”  
  
“Do you think I can’t handle it? He was my ex-professor and Head of House.”  
  
“Just don’t be cocky, Scorpius. You might think you know Zabini, but he’ll fight his corner - and his mother’s - very efficiently and won’t hesitate to fight dirty.”  
  
“Did you know well him at school?” Scorpius asked, curious now because Harry and Zabini seemed to have an amicable but aloof type of acquaintance.  
  
“Hardly at all, but then I didn’t know many people well outside Gryffindor,” Harry mused and started to walk with Scorpius to the Owlery. “You know how it is, or maybe you don’t. I suppose it’s different now. Anyway, there was Luna Lovegood - now Scamander - she became a friend in my fifth year. Ernie, that’s Benedict’s dad, and Hannah, Neville’s wife, but that’s about it apart from ...” He trailed off and stopped walking, his mouth open and eyes wide.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
“Cho Chang,” Harry muttered. “I knew her. And we ... Merlin, I’ve been so blind!” Without saying another word, he twisted around and started to run back down the corridor.  
  
“Harry, what is it?”  
  
“He wasn’t there, Scorpius. _He_ wasn’t there.”  
  
“WHO?” Scorpius shouted.  
  
But Harry had gone.


	17. Flint Encounters

Eager to catch Harry and find out the meaning behind his enigmatic statement, Scorpius near sprinted back from the Ministry Owlery. His message to Professor Zabini had been brief, but to the point, informing him that his mother had been taken in for questioning and required his presence. And although Harry had told him to let Karis stew, there was only so much he could do to delay Zabini’s arrival apart from selecting the slowest owl to make the delivery.

“Harry?” he called out as he charged into the department.

“He’s not here,” muttered Proudfoot. He was standing by the kettle, spooning coffee into a cup. “Do you want one?”

“Huh?” Surprised, he accepted, and walked across to join him. Perhaps Proudfoot was at last thawing towards him.

“So, how’s it going?” Proudfoot asked. “Anything else on the Flint case?”

“Not much,” Scorpius replied. He held the coffee to his lips, about to take a sip, but something stopped him. Proudfoot’s offer and now this conversation just seemed so unlike him.

“So why do you need Harry?”

“Oh ... uh ... nothing much. He needed me to send an owl to someone.”

“Zabini?” Proudfoot asked and chuckled. “Yeah, he told me. And you’ve locked up Flint, too. Good work.”

“Thanks.” He was puzzled at the change in attitude, but whilst Jacob appeared to be in a good mood, he decided to probe a little. “Did you examine the wand?”

For a moment, Proudfoot’s congenial expression flickered then he smiled ruefully. “I tried Priori Incantatum, but nothing happened.” He shrugged. “Not a bad idea, but it was used far too long ago.”

“I didn’t know that could be a problem,” Scorpius said, and walked to his desk, setting the coffee cup down on a coaster.

“Mmm, shame really,” Proudfoot replied. “We’ve still only got McLaggen’s word for it that she was on the train, haven’t we?”

Scorpius hesitated, wary of a conversation that was veering into territory he was not supposed to know about. “I ... um ... don’t know about that. I suppose Harry must have his reasons.”

Proudfoot raised his eyebrows and returned to his desk, saying nothing more as he rifled through his in-tray.

_Was he pumping me for information?_

Out of the corner of his eye, the steam from his coffee swirled in the air. He picked up the mug and surreptitiously inhaled. It smelt normal, and no doubt tasted of coffee, but then Veritaserum was colourless and odourless.

“Not drinking that?” Proudfoot asked.

“Uh ...” He stared at the drink. “I don’t like milk.”

Shrugging, Proudfoot leant across his desk, pointed his wand at the cup and levitated it towards him. “You don’t mind if I do then, do you? Only I need something to keep me awake.”

_I’m paranoid._

Shaking his head, Scorpius picked up a quill and began to jot down Jonah’s accusations. His old Potions professor, Head of House, and one of the few men Scorpius respected, would soon be receiving the news that his mother was in custody, and Scorpius didn’t want to be lacking when he faced him across the interview table.

However, it would be a shame to waste the benevolent mood Proudfoot appeared to be in.

“Jacob?” he called.

“Hmm.”

“What was Moody like?”

“Huh?”

“Alastor Moody,” Scorpius replied, and swivelled his chair around. “Did you ever work with him?”

“Oh ... Mad-Eye. Yes, he was here when I first qualified. Not for long though. Why?”

“Looking through case files,” Scorpius said casually. “And I’d heard about him, obviously.”

Proudfoot laughed. “Your dad remembers him fondly, does he?”

Gritting his teeth, Scorpius returned to his work. The story of his dad being Transfigured into a ferret had followed him all the way through Hogwarts - largely down to James Potter telling everyone as soon as Scorpius joined the school. It didn’t matter that his dad had been hexed by a Death Eater impersonating the former Auror, everyone remembered it as Mad-Eye’s actions. Scorpius was used to it, but he hadn’t expected it to follow him here.

“Why do you want to know?” Proudfoot persisted.

“It’s interesting that’s all,” Scorpius mumbled. He picked up the file containing the notes on Karis’s sixth husband and flicked through them, wondering if there was anything he’d missed. “Did you ever interview Karis Flint?”

“She had so many husbands, I’m sure I pulled her in on one occasion,” Proudfoot said, standing up. “But don’t expect me to remember any details. Anyway, I have to get this wand back to the evidence room. Tell Harry I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? It’s only -”

Proudfoot tapped his nose. “Special task. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Malfoy.”

As Proudfoot left, Scorpius slumped back in his seat. He’d thought he was finally making a breakthrough with the older Auror, but once again Proudfoot was sneering at him.

_At least he called me ‘Malfoy’ and not ‘lad’. That’s something I suppose._

He worked steadily after that, with one eye on the door as he waited for Harry or Zabini. Le Soto’s death had been signed off by the Healers as natural causes, and really there was nothing to tie her into anything sinister ... except he had been her _sixth_ husband.

They’d _all_ died, and she’d never been caught, so perhaps Karis thought of murder as her way out of anything objectionable or tiresome.

Unless it really was a seven-time coincidence.

When the clock ticked to five and Harry had not reappeared, Scorpius took refreshments to Karis. Still in the interview room, she’d managed to cajole some magazines out of one of the guards and was flipping through them whilst looking supremely bored.

“My son has not arrived, I presume,” she said archly. “Did you bother to send for him?”

“I sent an owl. His Floo connection still isn’t working,” Scorpius replied cagily.

“Is my husband still here?”

“He’s in a cell until he cools off,” Scorpius told her as he handed over a sandwich. “Would you like coffee or tea?”

She shook her head, looking thoughtful. “Do his family know where he is?”

“We haven’t informed anyone.”

“Good.” Prodding the sandwich with one long red fingernail, she appeared to be deliberating its nutritional value before pushing it away. “You can’t believe everything Jonah says, you know.”

“You came back with some accusations yourself,” Scorpius remarked and took a seat opposite. “What was that about Durmstrang?”

“It’s not a secret, but Jonah was there for his final year. There was trouble over a girl at Hogwarts, I discovered later.”

Interested, Scorpius lent forwards. “The Muggle girl? Tamara’s mum?”

“No, not her!” Karis exclaimed. “And when I say trouble, I don’t mean pregnancy ... this was something nastier.”

His eyes narrowed. “Nastier, in what way?”

Tilting her head to one side, Karis displayed her neck and he saw darker oval imprints on her skin, the evidence of Jonah’s rage. “You saw what he was capable of in that corridor, Malfoy,” she murmured. “Tell me that doesn’t indicate a violent nature. The Flints are all the same.”

“You’ve been married to him for over twenty years.”

“My fearsome reputation precedes me,” she said mock-darkly. Picking again at the sandwich, she removed a slice of cucumber and held it up for inspection. “If you could possibly keep him locked up until Blaise arrives, I really would be grateful.”

“Why?”

“Jonah has a habit of smashing things when he’s angry. I’d rather it wasn’t one of my paintings,” she replied, and yawned. Yet despite the air of supreme indifference, Scorpius caught a certain wariness in her eyes.

 

Harry was in the department when he got back. He glanced at Scorpius as he walked through the door but made no comment beyond asking what time he’d sent the owl to Zabini.

“As soon as I left you,” Scorpius replied. He looked round the department, and seeing it was empty, stepped closer, intent on asking Harry about his parting remark.

“Talk me through everything you’ve found out about Crouch, Le Soto and Fudge,” Harry said, inadvertently thwarting him.

Sighing inwardly, Scorpius handed him the files, explaining that there wasn’t much else to add. “Someone known as A.T. was present at the interview when Marcellus Fudge died. I found the notes clipped onto the back, quite indecipherable, actually, but they don’t seem to say much more than the official report. Fudge was old, and he died from bleeding in his brain. A.T. interviewed some of the Healers at St Mungo’s, but no one there remembered treating him for headaches, or any other symptoms. So Karis was brought in, but she produced proof that he’d seen a private Healer.”

“Who was the Healer?”

“Bevan Berringer,” Scorpius replied promptly. “He ... um ... he treats my granddad, actually. That’s my mum’s dad.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Harry said. His eyes were fixed on the notes from that case, and a small, faint smile flickered momentarily on his lips.

“You did say this might not have been investigated properly. A.T. could have made a mistake, or maybe Karis paid him so he took Berringer’s report at face value,” Scorpius hypothesised.

“Impossible,” Harry murmured.

“You know A.T.?”

“She always hated her first name,” Harry replied in a quiet voice. “A.T. is ‘Auror Tonks’, Teddy’s mum. She was bright, funny, clumsy, annoyingly perceptive, and ultimately incorruptible. She’d have investigated thoroughly.”

“I didn’t think,” Scorpius mumbled. “Sorry, I should have known.”

Sighing, Harry closed the file. “How could you? And you can’t assume anything. The Auror could have been on the take - the name means nothing. Anyway, we’re not investigating Karis for past deeds unless it pertains to method. It seems clear enough that Marcellus died of natural causes. Le Soto and Crouch ... those cases are far less clear cut.”

“I can’t find out anything else about number six. Scrimgeour was in charge, and he signed off on it. The trouble is,” he said, and paused, “Le Soto was cremated, so even if she had done something, we won’t be able to prove it. However, Crouch _was_ poisoned, and the milk in Tamara’s kitchen had been spiked.”

“No, we _think_ he was poisoned,” Harry countered, “and without the carton, we have no proof Tamara’s milk was tampered with - just a suspicion. _If_ Crouch was poisoned, it was untraceable. If there was poison at Tamara’s house, it was strong enough to burn a hole in the draining board, so not at all subtle.”

“So it’s not her?”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered and started to walk away. “She’s hiding something, and all the evidence appears to point in her direction. But until Zabini gets here, she’s not going to say another word.”

“Harry,” Scorpius blurted out just as Harry was about to open his office door.

“Yep?”

Perhaps it wasn’t the right time to ask, but then again... Scorpius took a step towards him. “Who wasn’t there?” he asked in undertone.

“Pardon?”

“Earlier, you said he wasn’t there. I ... uh ... wondered what you were talking about.”

Harry removed his glasses, fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and started to wipe them. “A working theory, that’s all,” he muttered.

_And you still don’t trust me._

Something must have shown on his face because Harry touched him on the shoulder. “I don’t share everything because I don’t want to look like an idiot when I’m wrong, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Scorpius sighed, not quite believing him. “What do you want me to do now?”

“Wait with me for Zabini. I suggest you get along to the canteen and buy some dinner. Depending on the owl you used, we could be here a while.”

 

The Ministry cafeteria was much less busy at night, but it still opened to feed the unfortunates stuck on night duty. As one of them, Scorpius sat at a table, tucking into a stodgy lasagne and tried not to think of Truckle’s home cooking or the Hogwarts feasts. Then he smiled to himself. Cases willing, he’d be at Hogwarts on Saturday - although it wasn’t the food he was looking forward to.

It was just as he he’d finished, and was gulping down his coffee, that a paper plane swooped onto his plate. Recognising Harry’s writing on the front, he quickly opened it up.

_‘Zabini’s here.’_ Harry had written. _‘Interview room.’_

As a friend of his father’s, Scorpius had known Blaise Zabini for the majority of his life. He’d got to know him much better in the last two years of Hogwarts when his Potions professor had become his housemaster. And even better in his seventh year, when a series of circumstances and accidents had led to the Zabinis becoming embroiled in Scorpius’s personal life. Although he wouldn’t quite count Professor Zabini as a friend, he was someone he respected and liked. He’d thought the feeling mutual, but from the stony expression Zabini was wearing on his face now, he wondered if he was wrong.

“First of all,” Zabini said, once Scorpius had sat down, “I’d like to know why I was sent an owl when there are much faster methods of communication.”

“You would have been held up in lessons,” Harry replied smoothly, “and I wanted to make sure you received the message personally, and not via a third party.”

“I think Potter’s impugning your wife, darling,” Karis murmured. “Did you think she’d run to the _Prophet?_ ”

But Scorpius had caught the watchful look that passed between the two men, and understood exactly why Harry had insisted on an owled message. It wasn’t to let Karis ‘stew’ but because he didn’t want Tamara knowing they were interviewing someone.

“Have you told anyone where you are?” Harry asked.

Zabini shook his head. “I would appreciate being able to return as soon as humanly possible, Potter, so shall we make a start?”

“Certainly.” Harry pulled his chair closer to the table, and ignoring Karis’s yawn, addressed his remarks to Zabini. “Your mother has been helping us with our enquiries. Or rather, she’s been uncommunicative on certain aspects of the Tamara Flint case. We have reason to believe that there are money problems -”

“Gossip,” Karis interrupted. “You have no proof.”

“Your husband has confirmed this,” Scorpius chipped in.

“You shouldn’t believe everything that man tells you,” Karis replied.

“He has access to the accounts, which means we won’t need to wait for Gringotts,” said Harry.

She looked only slightly put out.

“Let me get this straight,” Zabini said. “You think my mother is behind the threats on Tamara’s life for money, do you?”

“It’s not an unheard of motive,” Harry replied, with sarcasm. His stare flicked to Karis. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Madam Flint, having been investigated by this department before.”

“Investigated and released without charge,” Karis said. “I don’t think you’ll find anything has changed. There is no new evidence.”

Slamming the poisons book down onto the table, Harry pushed it towards Blaise. “This was hidden at the Flint house. Had the Auror Department known of its existence in your mother’s possessions, then I feel sure they’d have acted. Tiberius Crouch was believed to have been poisoned.”

Zabini blinked, but his face remained passive. “There was never any proof, and my mother did all she could to keep him alive,” he said, but the words sounded rehearsed, remembered from years before. Then he frowned. “Where did they find this, Karis?”

“Hidden in the fireplace,” Karis replied.

“Not on the bookshelf, then.” He glanced at Scorpius before returning to Harry. “If you’d found this book on Longbottom’s shelf, or Padma Patil’s, what would you think?”

“That’s not relevant.”

“Yes, it is,” insisted Zabini. “You’d believe they had the book for research purposes.”

“It was hidden away,” Harry said.

“You have no proof that my mother was the person who concealed it. I’ve seen this book before. I’ve even read it because you’ll find it is essential reading for any Potioneer, or those with any kind of interest - Hermione Weasley probably has a copy.”

“Are you saying it’s yours?”

Zabini smiled slightly. “It has my mother’s name in the fly leaf, Potter, so I’m not going to fall into that trap. My point, however, is that many witches and wizards own a book like this, and not for _nefarious_ reasons. As for it being hidden, the last time I read it, I replaced it on the bookshelf in the drawing room.”

“Can you prove that?”

Shrugging, Zabini pushed the book back to Harry - unopened. “Page fifty-three, I think: Monkshood, also known as aconite or wolfsbane, Potter. There are different varieties and I needed to ensure I selected the right one for my lessons. I checked this over the summer, and, as I said, I replaced it on the shelf.”

Harry opened the book and showed Scorpius the pictures of monkshood depicted on page fifty-three. “Proves nothing,” he murmured to Zabini. “You probably have this book at Hogwarts.”

Zabini smiled. “I do. But not this edition. You can check if you like, but the page numbers are different. It was a blow, not insurmountable, but Scorpius could see Harry’s jaw clenching as the professor chipped away at their case.

“There’s still the matter of money,” Harry said and leant over the table. “Tamara is your husband’s heir.”

“To a house I don’t want!” Karis exclaimed. “Potter, we live there because my husband insists. I wanted to make him happy, so agreed, but really, I’d far rather a house abroad. Jonah’s death makes no difference to me. I do not inherit anything, especially as he has nothing.”

Sitting back, Harry coughed. Scorpius picked up the cue.

“Unless Tamara dies first,” he said softly.

“Then Marcus is in line,” Karis said, clearly exasperated. “Do I have to draw a family tree for your clerk, Potter?”

“If Tamara dies, then her money goes to her next of kin. In this case her parents,” Scorpius replied, and fished out a document detailing inheritance laws. “Even if the Ministry could find her mum, a half share of Mara Stone’s fortune is still a tidy amount. And it’s not tied to the Flint estate.”

Zabini picked up the document, but instead of the cursory read-through Scorpius had expected, he studied it with care. His lips pressed together, and a nerve was flickering in his cheek, but he said nothing.

“You’re running out of money, Karis,” Harry whispered. “And it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve acted this way under pressure. There’ve been advances in poison detection. It’s amazing what we can find in dry bones these days.”

“NO.” The word was emphatic, vehement, and angry.

“Karis ...” Zabini interjected.

“They can be detected, can’t they, Zabini?” Harry continued.

Zabini ignored the question and clasped her hand between his. Scorpius didn’t know if they were Legilimens, but a silent look of understanding passed between them. “I think you can trust them,” he muttered.

_We’ve got her!_ Scorpius thought triumphantly.

“Thinking isn’t good enough, Blaise,” she replied softly, disentangling her hands from his. She took a breath and sat up straight. “There is no crime in marrying older men, Potter. The fact that they are likely to die is also not a crime. Nor is it a crime that they left me considerably better off than I was when I left Hogwarts.”

“It is a crime if you’ve helped them on their way,” Scorpius interrupted.

She turned her stare on him, her dark eyes rich with malevolence. “Oh, Malfoy, what do you think I did? Fucked them to death? Held a pillow over each face just at the moment of consummation!”

The unexpected coarseness of her language, the mockery of her words made him flinch, but he held her gaze, thankful he couldn’t feel a blush stealing across his face. “It’s not a crime,” he said steadily, before Harry could break in. “But that’s not how Tiberius Crouch died. He was poisoned.”

She ignored him, tossed her head with supreme indifference and started again. “As you seem to like hypothetical cases, Potter, what if I were to tell you that, _hypothetically,_ I have a very good friend from my Hogwarts days who is a Healer.”

“Are you implicating -”

She examined her nails. “Sometimes I visit my friend. Of course, he’s frightfully busy, so I have been known to wait for him at his private practice.”

“Is this Bevan Berringer?” asked Scorpius.

“It’s a hypothetical story, little Malfoy,” she drawled. “There are no names.”

“Go on,” Harry urged, shooting a look at Scorpius to keep quiet.

“There’s not much more to say. My friend used to talk about his cases over lunch. He was very circumspect, as a Healer should be, but it is surprising how loquacious he would become after a few drinks,” Karis replied. “Again, Potter, it is not a crime to buy a friend a drink ... or two.”

Scorpius listened to her documenting each marriage, no longer hypothetically. Selecting older infirm men, and waiting for nature to take its course. There had appeared to be a genuine regret at one or two deaths - Bernie Boot, she’d liked, as had Zabini who had smiled when he recalled his fourth stepfather, and Le Soto who had treated her kindly.

“After Tiberius, I’d decided to remain single,” she was saying, “but ... well ... it became expedient to meet him.”

“Why?” Harry asked. He’d lightened his tone, not as inquisitorial now that Karis was talking.

“It was Rufus’s idea-”

“Rufus Scrimgeour? What about him?” demanded Harry.

“He was Head Auror, and Ladislaw had come to his attention. Of course, the poor man didn’t help himself by being so secretive. Rufus suggested I make his acquaintance. We became friends, and Ladislaw asked me to marry him.”

“Was Le Soto a Death Eater? Is that why Scrimgeour covered up the death?”

“It was natural causes,” Karis insisted. “And no, he wasn’t a Death Eater. He was, however, gay and exceptionally ashamed of the fact.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, adding in a choked voice, “It wasn’t me he was in bed with when his heart gave out, but I cared for him enough to let his secret rest with his ashes.”

Scorpius digested this new information, not altogether believing this show of grief, which wasn’t enough to smudge her make-up, before blurting out, “But how could Scrimgeour persuade you to befriend him?”

It was silent in the room; even the Dictaquill had stopped scribing. All that could be heard were the breaths of the four occupants as Karis considered Scorpius’s question.

“Tell them,” Zabini murmured. “Karis, they’re looking for a connection to the attempts on Tamara’s life, so if Potter asks for an exhumation order on Crouch’s body, I doubt we can prevent it.”

She eyed them all, a wary expression in her eyes, and for a brief moment, Scorpius thought she was going to confess. But then she re-crossed her legs and smiled. “They have no motive because I don’t need her money!” Karis drawled, and turned to Harry. “I can prove it.”

“How?”

“I need something from the house. Will you let me return?”

Shaking his head, Harry sipped some coffee. “Tell me instead.”

“Very well, if you won’t let me go, then I shall send Blaise.” Leaning over to her son, she muttered something in his ear. He nodded and stood straight up.

“I’ll be back soon,” he started to say, then paused and narrowed his eyes. “Karis, they might think we’ve cooked this up between us, so I should take a witness with me. Scorpius fits the bill. May I, Potter?”

“Interview suspended at eight - oh - ten,” Harry replied, with a sigh. He stretched and gestured for Scorpius to follow Zabini.

 

“Do you really think we wouldn’t trust you, sir?” Scorpius demanded, when they reached the busy London street.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ anymore, Scorpius,” Zabini replied. He smiled wryly. “And you’re a Slytherin, so why would you trust anyone? However, the real reason is that I wanted you with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to be sure I can get into Flint’s house and my mother’s bedroom. Having an Auror, or at least a trainee, is helpful. Jonah won’t turn nasty if Potter’s authorised it.”

“Jonah’s not there,” Scorpius said.

Zabini came to a halt. “How do you know?”

“He’s in the cells for attacking Madam Flint,” Scorpius explained. He reached out a hand to pluck the professor’s sleeve when it looked as if Zabini was turning back to the Ministry. “You’ve seen her. She’s fine. Flint’s nursing bruised balls and won’t be released before the morning.”

“Does Marcus know?”

Shaking his head, Scorpius still didn’t release Zabini’s sleeve. “Jonah thinks Karis is trying to kill his daughter. Under the circumstances, you might do the same.”

“Who are you and what have you done with the Scorpius Malfoy that I spent the whole of last year pulling out of fights?” Zabini muttered, and gave a wintry smile.

“I learnt it from you,” Scorpius replied. Then he coughed, feeling that this was getting far too sentimental. “Anyway, what I was getting at was that Marcus doesn’t know Jonah’s under arrest.”

“And I shouldn’t go barging in and informing him of the fact,” Zabini stated.

“Marcus isn’t clever like Jonah. He’d kick off even if the Minister authorised this visit.”

Nodding, Zabini started to walk again, his long legs taking longer strides than Scorpius could manage, so he had to jog to keep up. The Muggles in the street barely gave them a second glance, although one or two called out that Halloween was over. Ignoring them, Scorpius followed Zabini into a side street where they Apparated to another just outside the Flint house.

“We can’t get in without a -” Scorpius stopped as Zabini produced a key.

“One big happy family,” Zabini muttered.

Pressing one finger to his lips, he unlocked the door and ushered Scorpius inside. It was quiet in the house - very quiet - and he wondered if Bulstrode was out because he couldn’t hear any sounds from the kitchen.

“Let’s do this quickly before Marcus realises we’re here,” whispered Zabini, mounting the stairs.

They made it to the landing on the first floor, treading carefully and quietly towards the second flight, before their luck ran out. Just as Zabini’s hand touched the banister, a door opened opposite, and a half dressed, yawning Marcus stepped out of a bedroom.

“That you, Jonah? What’s going on? Bulstrode told me you’d found a book, or something - Oh.” Registering who it actually was, Marcus’s face changed from its picture of vague boredom to active dislike, an expression, Scorpius noted, that mirrored Zabini’s. “What do you want?”

“Something for Karis,” Zabini replied smoothly, and carried on up the stairs.

“What sort of something? They’ve arrested her, haven’t they?”

Zabini carried on walking, ignoring Marcus’s question. “It’s this way,” he said to Scorpius.

“Zabini, you are not to go into my brother’s suite alone!”

“I didn’t listen to you in the Slytherin common room when you were a prefect, Flint, so what makes you think I’d do what you want now,” he retorted. “Look, if you’re that bothered, then call Bulstrode and she can stand guard over me, but _you_ are not entering my mother’s bedroom!”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. He released Scorpius, and stepped backwards, seeming to acquiesce, but there was something odd about the gesture. He was giving in to Zabini easily, and that didn’t sit quite right. Scorpius took one pace towards the stairs, appearing to follow the professor, but then he whipped around, just in time to see Marcus wielding his wand.

_“Expelliarmus!”_

Before Marcus had a chance to react, his wand flew out of his hand and towards Scorpius.

“Nice catch,” Zabini muttered, a faint smile on his mouth. “Now, Flint, I’m going to fetch something for Karis. You can rant all you want, but I don’t think you’ll get past Scorpius, who’s a damn sight more skilful with a wand than you ever were.”

As Zabini entered Karis’s bedroom, Scorpius stood guard. Up close, Marcus looked red-eyed, as if he’d only just woken up. His hair was dishevelled, his clothes crumpled and he smelt strongly of stale sweat, Firewhisky and, Scorpius realised with distaste, the even staler scent of sex.

“Get out of my way.”

Scorpius held his gaze, not at all afraid of the man he’d seen far drunker than this in his father’s company. Gripping his wand tighter, he shook his head. The action annoyed Marcus, who edged even closer. Scorpius refused to give ground but prodded Marcus in the chest. “One more inch and I’ll hex you, Flint.”

He backed away. “Does your dad approve of you holding his friends at wandpoint?”

“As I don’t live off my family,” Scorpius retorted, “it hardly matters if he approves or not.”

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Zabini called out as he emerged from the bedroom, carrying an envelope. Muttering an incantation, he sealed the room, then winked slyly. “I wouldn’t try getting in there, Flint. You’re bound to set off the jinx.”

“Jonah will need to get in!” Marcus blustered. “He won’t be at all happy when he comes home!”

“Then he can take it up with me when he gets back,” Zabini replied as he turned to Scorpius. “Come on, I want to get Karis released so I can return to Hogwarts before Lavender starts throwing plates.”

 

Karis greeted their return with a smirk and a sparkle in her eyes. Opening the envelope, she emptied the contents in front of Harry and Scorpius, producing a small book, and a key, both of which she handed to her son.

He opened it, and then his face - normally impassive ��“ widened in astonishment. “Karis, what is this?”

“Read it out to Potter,” she ordered, a smile playing on her lips.

“It’s ... uh ...” Clearly unable to iterate his words correctly, Zabini pushed the book over to Harry, only saying, “It’s a list of bank deposits paid into a Gringotts account.”

“Who is Tremlow?” Harry asked.

“It’s me,” Karis replied. “K Tremlow is an assumed name. It’s perfectly legal as long as I declare to the goblins that I have an additional account.”

“It’s a joint account, but I can’t see the other signatory. AZ. or something,” Harry said, squinting as he tried to read the details.

“Because Alexander Zabini might be the cleverest boy that ever lived,” Karis replied, flashing a smile at her son, “but he’s still only seven months old and the rudiments of quillmanship have not yet been acquired.”

“Let me get this straight: you’ve been siphoning off money from your account with Jonah,” Harry stated. “That’s fraud.”

She shook her head. “It’s not, actually. The money is mine from a previous account. I’ve merely stopped transferring it into the joint account. This is my way of ensuring that if I die, Jonah and his feckless family don’t get their hands on it before the will is read.”

Peeking over Harry’s shoulder, Scorpius studied the neat columns she’d set out, details of all deposits since Alexander had been born. He’d thought his dad was wealthy, but the numbers on the page made his head spin.

“I don’t want Tamara dead, Potter. Any risks I _may_ have taken in my life have always been calculated to the ‘nth degree.” She smiled at him, somewhat mockingly. “I think even your old friend Alastor Moody would agree with that.”

***

“So what now?” Scorpius asked.

They were back in Harry’s office clearing up the release papers for Karis.

“No bloody idea,” muttered Harry, stabbing his quill back into the inkwell. “Thing is, I’m sure she was close to telling us something. And Zabini was definitely worried about us exhuming Crouch’s body.”

“Could we keep her on that? Reopen the case, maybe.”

Harry removed his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I’m not sure there’s any justification for reopening the case. Crouch probably was poisoned, but after all this time, there’s no means of knowing how any poison was administered. Moody tried, Tonks tried, Scrimgeour tried, and I’m pretty damn certain that Kingsley Shacklebolt would have taken a look as well. No one likes unsolved cases.”

“Scrimgeour knew something,” Scorpius persisted. “He just didn’t act-”

He stopped speaking as a figure loomed in the door. “I’ve booked my mother into a hotel for the night,” Zabini informed them. “As Flint is no doubt spoiling for a fight, I’d appreciate it if one of you could escort her home to collect an overnight bag.”

“Jonah’s not going anywhere tonight,” Harry said. “But I’ll take her. Just give me ten minutes to finish up here.”

“I meant Marcus, actually,” Zabini replied. “But thank you for taking the threat against her seriously.”

 

Karis was standing by Scorpius’s desk and tying her cloak when they emerged from Harry’s office. “I am free to go?” she asked imperiously.

“Hotel is booked, Karis, and Potter’s escorting you back,” Zabini said, walking towards the hearth. “So if you don’t mind, I shall get back to Hogwarts. Lavender has no idea where I am and will be spitting feathers by now.”

Giving her son a kiss goodbye on the cheek, and thanking him peremptorily for his help, Karis pulled out a small mirror from her bag and began to smooth her hair into place.

“If you could let me know when Jonah’s to be released, I’d appreciate it,” Zabini called out, raising his eyebrows at his mother as he helped himself to a handful of Floo powder. He threw it in the flames, called out ‘Hogwarts’, then, just as he stepped in and the flames carried him away, he raised his hand to Karis. “I forgot to say thank you from Lavender for the chocolates.”

“What did he say?” Karis asked, barely looking up as she applied lipstick. “Merlin, I look ghastly.”

“Uh ... he said Lavender said thank you for the chocolates, I think,” Scorpius replied. “It was a bit hard to hear as the flames were crackling.”

“Chocolates?” Karis queried, sounding only slightly interested. “I haven’t sent her any. She’s always moaning about not regaining her figure after having Alexander, so why would I put temptation in her way?”

“Then -” Scorpius felt his breath catch in his throat. For a brief second, he couldn’t move, but a vision of Lavender or Tamara writhing in pain, faces contorted and purple, leapt into his mind. With no time to explain, he shouted to Harry not to leave, charged across to the hearth, and threw some Floo powder at the fire, shouting, “Hogwarts: Professor Zabini’s study.”

He landed in the other hearth badly and tipped forward onto the floor. The professor, intent on keeping the pretence of the blocked Floo, had not reached his rooms yet, so swearing under his breath as he rubbed his knee, Scorpius pounded up the stairs and into the Zabinis private quarters.

“Lavender!” he shouted. “Tamara, where are you?”

“Where do you think?” Lavender called out, adding pointedly, “ _We_ haven’t left Hogwarts ... oh ...” Her expression changed from one of extreme irritation to confusion when she saw him. “Scorpius, why are you here? Where’s Blaise?”

“On his way,” Scorpius gasped, taking in the scene. Lavender was pacing the room with a fractious baby, whilst Tamara sat on the sofa reading a book. “Sorry, there’s no time, but ...” He looked around. “The chocolates Karis sent you. Where are they?”

“What?” Lavender asked, shaking her head. “Oh, them. I’m on a diet, and Tamara hates chocolate, so I put them in the cupboard.”

“No, I got them out,” Tamara said idly, flipping over a page. “Xander wouldn’t settle and you were at dinner, so I thought he might like one.”

“Tamara, he’s seven months old!” Lavender exclaimed. “He shouldn’t be eating caramels, they’re far too rich.”

“How many did he have?” Scorpius strode across the room to Lavender just as Alexander let out a huge wail, and creased his legs up to his chest.

“Just one,” Tamara replied. “I don’t think he liked them much. He spat it out.”

“I thought you were teething,” Lavender was saying, but she was rubbing his stomach now and nothing seemed to soothe the baby. “Come on, Xander, be a good boy for mummy.”

The crying reached a pitch, Alexander’s face contorted, his pupils dilated, and his tiny arms flailed in the air. Scorpius’s entire knowledge of babies could be written on the wing of a Snitch, but Lavender’s growing unease was palpable. Grabbing Alexander, Scorpius ran down the stairs and back to the study. _“Accio Bezoar stones!”_ he shouted. A small drawer in the desk opened, and a fleet of grey stones flew into his palm. To a rising crescendo of Alexander’s cries, and Lavender’s now fevered questions, Scorpius pushed the smallest of the stones into the baby’s mouth. Alexander stopped screaming, convulsed, before finally lying limp on the floor.

“What the hell is going on?” yelled Zabini, and ran forwards to snatch up his son.

“I don’t know! He barged in, started babbling on about chocolates and then grabbed Xander from me.” Lavender screeched and pounded Scorpius with her fists. “What have you done to him? You’ve killed him!”

“Lavender,” interrupted Zabini as he held his son close. “He’s okay! It’s a side effect of the bezoar stone. Alexander’s breathing.”

As her blows ceased, Scorpius sat up and took a steadying breath. “The chocolates,” he gulped, his hands shaking. “Karis didn’t send them. Someone has worked out that Tamara is here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this, or for just finding the story. Five more chapters left.


	18. Truths Unmasked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might just get something resolved in this chapter ... no promises, but .... yeah.

The corridor was dark; no torches were aflame, so Scorpius lit his wand, grabbed Tamara’s hand, led the way down the snaking corridor, and further into the depths of the building. Under his cloak, he carried the box of chocolates, sealed against any further contamination.  
  
“Not so fast,” Tamara hissed.  
  
“You wanted to come with me, and I’m not taking any chances, so speed up!” Scorpius ordered.  
  
“Because coming with you was better than being stuck in a holding cell in the Ministry!” she exclaimed.  
  
‘Love can be fouuuuund in the deeeee-eeeepest sea-aaa!’  
  
Scorpius jumped. “What the hell is that?”  
  
“Oh!” Tamara pulled him back to her. In the Lumos light, he saw her face wreathed in a smile.  
  
‘And on that boat, I’ll saiiiiiiiil awayyyyy with youuuuuu.’  
  
“Merlin, it sounds like a bloody Banshee.” He yelped as Tamara hit him. “What was that for?”  
  
“That’s one of my songs!” she whispered, and giggled. “Felix is singing it.”  
  
“Is someone there?” Felix, poked his head out of his office, peered at them and then dropped his coffee cup. “Scorpius, Ta-Tamara, how ... uhm ... unexpected ... especially at this hour and er ... delightful, of course. I thought I was the only night owl.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Scorpius muttered, ushering Tamara through the door.  
  
Felix Frogmore’s office was an eclectic mix of professionalism and home comforts. A large oak desk was strewn with papers and files, evidence of the cases he was working on. One wall had been fitted with shelves, stacked with books, which, like the desk, appeared to have no logical means of organisation. Opposite the bookshelves was an overstuffed sofa, with squashy mismatched cushions and a small side table stacked with various medical and sports magazines. Scorpius knew Felix often spoke to grieving relatives giving them the results of his post-mortems, and he supposed the ambience here made them feel less intimidated than in a clinical and ultimately sterile environment.  
  
“Felix, we need your help,” he said, after Tamara had settled herself on the sofa. “I think these chocolates have been poisoned. Could you analyse them?”  
  
“Mmm, sure,” Felix replied. He took the box from Scorpius’s hand and placed them on his desk before turning to Tamara. “Would you like a coffee, or something?” he asked, effusive even as his face flushed.  
  
“I meant now,” Scorpius said. Felix raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, it’s just that someone’s eaten one of them, so if we could find out what the poison is ...”  
  
“Oh, yes, certainly. Are they still alive? Only I haven’t seen another customer.”  
  
Scorpius tried not to grimace at Felix’s light-hearted reference to his profession. “Yeah, thankfully. I got a bezoar stone down his throat in time.”  
  
“Quick thinking.” Carrying the box to a counter top in the corner, his attitude changed, as he became the consummate professional. “Symptoms?”  
  
“Uh...” Scorpius tried to recall the scene. “He was in pain, face contorted-”  
  
“What happened as soon as he ingested the chocolate?” Felix fired rapidly.  
  
“I- uh...”  
  
Tamara jumped in, sounding defensive. “He was fine. Nothing extreme happened. He was a bit whiny, but I thought he was just restless; then Lavender came back and thought he was teething. She tried to -”  
  
“A baby!” Felix interrupted. “Scorpius, how old is the patient?”  
  
“Seven months,” he replied promptly.  
  
“And where is he now?”  
  
“A few floors up,” said Scorpius. “He’s been taken to St Mungo’s. Madam Bones didn’t think she could treat him at Hogwarts.”  
  
“Good, good,” Felix muttered. Opening the box, he studied the chocolates, thoughtfully, then picked one up and held it under his nose. “Smells normal... hmm ...pass me the silver knife, will you? It’s in the tool belt. Second drawer down.”  
  
Although Scorpius scrambled forwards, Tamara got there first, wrenching open the drawer in her hurry. Scorpius rocked back on his heels and smirked at her. She narrowed her eyes then tripped across to Felix.  
  
“Any idea what it is?” she asked.  
  
“Something slow acting,” he murmured, barely looking up. With deft precision, he incised the chocolate. “Or Scorpius would have been far too late.”  
  
Peering over Felix’s shoulder, Scorpius watched as a small drop of purple liquid oozed from the centre.  
  
“That’s not caramel,” Scorpius said.  
  
“No, it isn’t.” Felix frowned and looked up from the sample and straight at Scorpius. “Did you notice the patient’s eyes at all?”  
  
“Wide,” Scorpius replied. “Pupils huge. I mean he has dark eyes anyway, but ... yes, the pupils were dilated.”  
  
Felix whistled through his teeth. “Beautiful lady,” he muttered. Then, appearing to shake himself, he stood up straight. “It’s belladonna. You need to tell the Healers. I don’t know how much the baby ingested, but it could have serious after effects, even with the bezoar.”  
  
“Belladonna! Are you sure?”  
  
Felix pulled a face that seemed to say, ‘Are you telling me my job?’ “Colour, smell and the symptoms you have described, tell me so, unless you know different, Malfoy!”  
  
“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve used this in lessons. I wouldn’t have thought -“  
  
“You use a mild diluted solution of it at Hogwarts,” Felix replied sternly. “This is concentrated and unless treated in time deadly - especially in one so young.”  
  
Taking the rebuke, Scorpius gulped. “Right, I’ll get going.”  
  
“Wait!” Felix ordered and opened a cupboard in the far corner, pulling out a small jar. “Essence of Calabar Bean. It’s an effective antidote. The Healer will know the dose, but just in case they don’t have any to hand, take this.” He whistled again. “I’ve not seen this for a long time.”  
  
Tamara clutched him. “He will get better, won’t he?”  
  
Staring at her hand on his arm, Felix took a breath, then, after levitating the Essence to Scorpius, he placed his hand over hers. “He should make a full recovery, but it depends how much he ingested.”  
  
“It’s my fault. I gave him the chocolate,” Tamara choked.  
  
“Did you poison them?” Felix demanded.  
  
“NO!” The denial was indignant.  
  
“Then don’t blame yourself,” he replied. Realising Scorpius was still there, he removed his hand from hers. “Come on, a strong cup of coffee while we wait for Malfoy. Or maybe a Firewhisky?”  
  
“I’ll ... er ... leave you to it, then,” Scorpius called, “Felix, I’m casting some strong Locking Charms on the door. Don’t let anyone in, unless it’s me or Harry, okay?”  
  
“Mmm, sure,” Felix murmured, then blinked. “Uh, why?”  
  
“Because the chocolates were meant for Tamara,” he replied as he ran from the room.  
  
After pounding along the basement corridor and towards the lift, Scorpius hammered his hand impatiently on the lift button and waited. His fingers curled around the jar of Calabar Essence, and he examined the grey liquid, hoping he wouldn’t be too late.  
  
_It won’t be too late,_ he thought furiously. _Xander was breathing._  
  
Harry was pacing the corridor on the third floor, looking grim, when Scorpius arrived.  
  
“Anything from Felix?”  
  
“Belladonna,” Scorpius said, panting. He held out the jar. “Where are the Healers? He says this is the antidote.”  
  
Harry pushed a door and held it open for Scorpius. The ward for Potions and Plant Poisoning was mercifully un-crowded, and at that time of night, the patients were mainly sleeping. The only sounds Scorpius could hear were a woman’s sobs and a faint whimpering coming from a curtained off corner of the room. “Healer Pye,” called Harry, “we have some news.”  
  
A fresh-faced wizard with curly brown hair and rosy cheeks peeped out and beckoned them inside. As the curtain gaped, Scorpius saw Alexander, so small and helpless, prone on the bed, with Lavender half lying next to him. Crouched on the other side, Zabini stroked his son’s hair, murmuring soothing words as the baby began to wail.  
  
“You have word from Frogmore?” Pye asked. Harry nodded. “That was quick. What does he think it is?”  
  
“Belladonna,” Scorpius replied, and handed over the jar. “Essence of Calabar Bean - he said you’d know the dose.”  
  
“Yes, good. Thank you,” Healer Pye replied. Accepting the bottle, he gave it a quick shake, examining the solution as he held it to the light. “Madam Zabini, I need to treat your son.”  
  
Lavender didn’t move, but clutched at Alexander. “Blaise, what’s he doing?”  
  
“Belladonna? Are you sure?” Zabini queried, staring up at Scorpius.  
  
“Felix Frogmore works for the Auror Department,” Harry explained. “He’s examined the chocolates and-”  
  
“Yes, I know him,” Zabini replied. Reaching across, he prised Lavender’s fingers away from Alexander. “They need to treat him, darling. Let go.”  
  
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Blaise, he’s so small. I can’t leave him.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” he soothed, “and this will help.”  
  
Slowly, Lavender released her hold. With tremulous lips and glimmering eyes, she stared up at Pye. “You won’t hurt him, will you?”  
  
Pye pressed his lips together, glancing warily at Zabini. Taking the hint, he got to his feet, walked around the bed, and lifted Lavender away from Alexander.  
  
“Lavender,” he said softly. “They’re going to give him an antidote to the belladonna. It ... it will look bad, but there’s no better remedy.”  
  
“Perhaps it would be better if your wife stayed outside,” Pye offered.  
  
She shook her head furiously. “I’m not leaving,” she insisted, fighting to get free from Zabini.  
  
He held firm, staring directly into her eyes. “Then you need to quieten for his sake.” She swallowed then nodded and Zabini released her. “Pye, let her hold him. My wife’s better at calming him down than I am.”  
  
“We’ll wait outside,” Harry murmured, and started to back out of the ward, signalling for Scorpius to follow.  
  
“Where’s Tamara?” he asked in a low voice when they’d reached the corridor.  
  
“With Felix,” Scorpius replied and raised his hand to ward off the inevitable protest. “I know you wanted me to find somewhere safe, but she insisted, and ... well ... he isn’t going to hurt her. Besides, I sealed the door and they’ll only answer to me or you.”  
  
“Why did she agree?” Harry asked, puzzled.  
  
Scorpius grinned, then pulled his face straight when they heard a piercing cry from the ward. “Shit ... that’s -”  
  
“Pye knows what he’s doing,” Harry said, but Scorpius could tell he was shaken too. “Tell me about Tamara. Why’s she agreed to stay with Felix?”  
  
“Uh...” Scorpius breathed in, trying to drown out the sound of Alexander’s cries. However, Lavender was holding it together, he could hear her singing now, her voice not even wavering. He shook his head, trying to focus. “I guess she feels safe there.”  
  
Harry nodded. “Fine. So ... belladonna - we need to work out why that was used, and who had access-”  
  
The door of the ward buffeted open, but instead of Lavender barging into the corridor, it was Zabini. The semblance of calm that he’d assumed when his son was first poisoned was dissipating fast as he slammed his fist against the wall. From the ward, Scorpius could hear Xander’s cries, but Lavender continued her song.  
  
“Sir, is he...”  
  
Zabini took several deep breaths, closed his eyes and continued pounding.  
  
Harry approached him, not tentatively, but with the air of someone that had seen it before. He spoke quietly, yet Scorpius caught each word. “It’s always worse when it’s out of your control, I find.”  
  
“He’s so young, and belladonna ... Merlin knows what it could do to him!”  
  
“Tamara said he spat the sweet out,” Scorpius said, hoping this was of some consolation, “and they have the antidote now, so that’s good, isn’t it?”  
  
“Pye’s in there feeding it to him, drop-by-drop. It will work, but we simply don’t know how much of the belladonna is in his system.” Zabini took another breath, and when he turned around to face them, he appeared calmer. “Tamara can’t stay with us any longer, Potter. She has to leave.”  
  
“She’s already left,” Harry replied. “Zabini, if I’d had any idea that your family would be affected, then I’d-”  
  
Zabini waved away the apology. “And I’d like to see my mother. Where is she?”  
  
Scorpius frowned. In the tumult, he’d forgotten about Karis Flint, but of all the people he thought would be banging on the doors at St Mungo’s and demanding the best treatment, he expected to see her.  
  
“She does know, doesn’t she, Potter?”  
  
Harry shuffled his feet. “Madam Flint is well aware of what has happened but has agreed to stay away.”  
  
“What? Why?” Zabini demanded, his voice rising. “You surely don’t think she had anything to do with this! It’s her own grandson, for Merlin’s sake!”  
  
“The chocolates weren’t sent to him -” Harry started to say.  
  
“You still think it’s her,” he seethed. “After everything-”  
  
“No, I don’t!” Harry interrupted, speaking slowly and with infinite clarity. “But the real culprit is obviously trying to frame Karis, which is why the chocolates supposedly came from her.” Zabini blinked. “I would like, as far as possible, to keep your son’s poisoning a secret because as long as Tamara’s would-be killer believes they’re undetected, they might slip up.”  
  
It appeared to make sense. At least the muscle twitching in the professor’s cheek stopped as he unclenched his jaw, and then slumped back against the wall.  
  
“Your son wasn’t the intended victim,” Harry continued. “It seems clear someone worked out where Tamara was hiding, but that person also didn’t care if you or Lavender was poisoned, too. So, Zabini ...” He paused. “...Blaise, I need to know if you think it likely that the Flints would want you dead.”  
  
Scorpius gaped. He didn’t like either of the Flint brothers much, but although he could see both of them hexing in anger, sending chocolates that could kill indiscriminately seemed ...unlikely.  
  
“Jonah and I _tolerate_ each other,” Zabini replied. “Marcus has never liked me. I used to get on all right with Tabitha, although I haven’t seen her for years.” There was another wail from the ward, and as Lavender faltered, he pushed open the door. “I have to get back, Potter. I don’t know if any of them would want me dead - or Lavender - but equally, I can’t see them grieving over my grave.”  
  
Harry nodded, but Scorpius could see he was dying to question Zabini some more. The door swung shut, but through the window, they watched as Zabini sat on the bed, his arms encompassing Lavender and Alexander.  
  
“Will he really be all right?” Scorpius asked, a lump forming in his throat.  
  
“He’s in the best place,” Harry muttered, “and you getting that bezoar into him would have helped a lot. It’s a good job Zabini had them so close to hand, and that you knew about them.”  
  
Scorpius thought back. He’d acted instinctively, not even thinking about dashing to the storeroom, but now he considered it, he had known the bezoars were there. “The professor told me a story once about some kid collapsing in the study - it wasn’t his study at the time, I’m not sure who the teacher was - but he’d kept a stock of bezoars in his drawer after that, and Zabini didn’t see any reason to get rid of them.” He shrugged. “Not sure it’s true, but I guess it’s a good idea to take precautions.”  
  
Harry’s lips twitched, but he said no more about it, instead returning to the problem of the chocolates and who could have poisoned them then sent them. Belladonna was an easy enough ingredient to get hold of because it was a component of standard potions kits, but to distil the diluted liquid into a concentrated poison took a certain amount of skill.  
  
“How many chocolates would Tamara have had to eat to die, do you reckon?” Scorpius asked.  
  
“No idea,” Harry muttered, “but Felix will know. Come on, we’ll let Tamara know what’s happening, and then discuss our plan.”  
  
“Plan?”  
  
“Catch the killer,” replied Harry, sounding grim. “I hope you weren’t planning on an early night, Scorpius.”  
  
  
Tamara and Felix were drinking Firewhisky from coffee cups when Scorpius and Harry reached them. Nestled into the sofa, she looked brighter than before; a flush of colour in her cheeks, which Scorpius wasn’t sure could only be attributed to the drink. But as soon as they walked in, whatever smile had been on her face died as her thoughts returned to Alexander.  
  
“How’s Xander? Is he...” She swallowed painfully, “Is he going to be all right?”  
  
Harry nodded and Summoned chairs for himself and Scorpius. “The Healer’s hopeful.”  
  
“Babies have remarkably strong constitutions,” Felix said to Tamara. “And the thing about belladonna is that the effects are generally worse when you’re older.”  
  
“Why?” Scorpius asked, puzzled.  
  
“Amongst other things belladonna is a hallucinogenic,” Felix replied. “So anyone ingesting it, even through the skin, might be under the illusion that they could fly, perhaps, or that they were on fire.” Summoning a book from the shelf above his desk, he leafed through the pages, stopping about a third the way through to show them a picture. “This poor chap thought he was covered in minute salamanders. He tried to hex them and ended up flaying his skin off.”  
  
“So, Xander might have had hallucinations, but he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it,” Scorpius said.  
  
“Exactly,” Felix replied. “And he’s probably too young to remember the experience. As long as the Healer can regulate the other symptoms, which he should be able to do with the Calabar Essence, then he’ll soon be well.”  
  
Scorpius shot a glance at Tamara. He didn’t want to upset her because he sensed she was still feeling enormous guilt over what had occurred, but the image of Zabini looking _so_ distraught weighed heavily on him.  
  
“Is the treatment painful?”  
  
Felix looked at him thoughtfully. “They cancel each other out,” he said at last. “If you chewed on a Calabar bean, Scorpius, the Healers would dose you with belladonna.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry said, cutting through everyone’s thoughts, “what we have here is a would-be-killer who wasn’t the slightest bit put off by the fact that there were other people who could have died. He or she also worked out where you were, Tamara, so I have to know if you told anyone your location.”  
  
She shook her head. “Not even my agent and I should be negotiating a new contract with the record company.” Frowning a little, she turned her attention to Scorpius. “How did you know Karis hadn’t sent the chocolates? How did you even know we _had_ the chocolates?”  
  
“Uh...” Scorpius glanced at Harry who gave him a quick nod. “We’d arrested Karis Flint, which was why the professor was at the Auror Department. He said thank you to her from Lavender, and she denied sending them.”  
  
“Arrested Karis?” Tamara interrupted. “Why? She can’t inherit the Flint house and neither can Blaise.”  
  
“We think it’s about _your_ money,” Harry replied. “Tamara, you’re very wealthy and if you die, then your money would be split between your parents. We also had information that Karis was running out of money so ...”  
  
“That’s not true, though,” Tamara stated.  
  
“Well, yes, she’s not broke at all,” Scorpius agreed.  
  
“No, I don’t mean that,” Tamara replied. “Jonah wouldn’t get my money because I’ve made a will.”  
  
“A will,” Harry intoned.  
  
“Mmm, it was when I first started going on tour. You would not believe the accidents that can happen when you use Muggle transport. It’s quite disconcerting being in a tour bus. My lawyer suggested it at the time I was signing the venue contracts. She said dying intestate can cause so many problems, especially as I’m not married.” Scorpius tried but failed to stop from snorting as she alluded to her single state whilst avoiding Felix’s eye. Tamara coughed. “There was also the problem that I couldn’t find my real mother, so it made sense. After the argument with Jonah, I certainly didn’t want him getting his hands on my loot. And I never got on with Karis -”  
  
“Tamara,” cut in Harry, “who did you leave your money to?”  
  
“I’m not the sort of person who leaves a fortune to the cats’ home, and I always got on reasonably well with him,” she continued and took a sip of her Firewhisky, frowned on seeing it had gone, then smiled when Felix replenished the mug.  
  
“ _Tamara,_ who have you left your money to?” Harry barked.  
  
“I left it to Marcus,” she replied. “He was the only one I got on with and I was in a bit of a hurry as I was due to leave for Europe. He came to mind.”  
  
Harry goggled at her. “Does he know about this?”  
  
She laughed. “Well, I haven’t told him.”  
  
“But your lawyer knows. Is she a Muggle?” Scorpius asked.  
  
“I’ve been out of the magical world for nearly twenty years, Auror-boy,” she said scathingly, then appeared to remember Felix was there because she smiled and softened her tone. “Of course she’s a Muggle. Why are you asking?”  
  
“Just wondering if anyone could have told Marcus,” he replied, and turned to Harry. “Copies of wills are lodged at the Ministry, aren’t they? It’s possible someone gained access to it.”  
  
“No, I didn’t send a copy to the Ministry. I have a copy and my lawyer has the original,” Tamara insisted. “Look, I didn’t actually expect this will to be my last, I only put down Marcus’s name because the thought of my money going to Jonah made me physically ill!”  
  
“And you keep your copy in the house, I suppose,” Harry said. She nodded. “Where?”  
  
“It’s perfectly safe,” she said archly. “I’ve locked it away with my financial papers. I have the key with me.”  
  
Harry ran both his hands through his hair. “Tamara, a wizard doesn’t need a key to open a Muggle lock! I wish you’d told me this before.”  
  
“Well, I wish you’d told me that someone was after my money!” she exclaimed. “You said, Potter, that this was about the Flint estate, and not mine! I was in no danger until your department tried to find me!”  
  
Scorpius groaned inwardly, suddenly realising that he’d been slack. “It’s in the bureau, isn’t it,” he said, and sighed. “Sorry, Harry, the cleaner told me the room had ransacked, but I didn’t think about going through everything.”  
  
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Harry refrained from giving him the rebuke Scorpius knew he deserved. Instead, he asked him to make some strong coffee, whilst he quizzed Felix further on the effects of belladonna. As Scorpius heated the water, he heard snippets of the conversation as Felix described the symptoms in detail and the difficulty in diagnosis.  
  
“Why?” Harry asked. “Healer Pye seemed confident that you were correct.”  
  
Felix pulled a face. “We’re lucky Scorpius caught the dilation of the boy’s eyes, and that he brought me the chocolates to analyse. There’s no real pattern to belladonna poisoning. By that, I mean that there’s a range of symptoms, but they can be attributable to something else, and there isn’t a sequence except in the final stages.”  
  
“And they are?”  
  
“Paralysis, organ failure and death,” Felix said grimly. “But as you’ve seen from my text case, the victim could die before those stages are reached.”  
  
Accepting the coffee from Scorpius, Harry sipped thoughtfully. “So, if we hadn’t suspected the chocolates, and - say - Lavender had eaten one and imagined her skin was crawling with salamanders ...”  
  
“Harry, what are you scheming?” Felix asked. “I don’t like that look.”  
  
Clearly deliberating, Harry leant towards Tamara. “We had hoped that by coming out into the open, the threat to you would cease. But the attacks haven’t stopped and the would-be killer has become increasingly desperate. Pat being hexed was one thing - it’s the sort of thing you sign up for when you’re an Auror - but the poison in the chocolates is indiscriminate. Tamara, we can try to keep you safe by assigning you a bodyguard, but it could be for a very long time.”  
  
“I can’t hide away forever,” she muttered. “I have a life, Potter.”  
  
He nodded. “Then we need to force his hand.”  
  
At that, Felix, who had been scrutinising Harry carefully, exploded. “With Tamara as bait! Harry, that’s far too dangerous.”  
  
“No, he’s right,” Tamara said, her voice shaking.  
  
“Use Polyjuice!” Felix protested. “Tamara can’t defend herself; she doesn’t even have a wand.”  
  
“We could use Polyjuice Potion,” Harry said slowly. “But the problem is that it has to be drunk every hour, on the hour, and that’s where we could be caught out. Tamara, you don’t have to agree, but I honestly think this is the best solution.”  
  
She stared at him intently, then after squeezing Felix’s arm again, she assented with a small nod of the head. Exhaling, Harry removed a sheet of parchment from Felix’s desk, scribbled some notes, and then beckoned for Scorpius to join him outside.  
  
Still feeling the weight of his slip, Scorpius followed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered as they walked towards the lift. “I know I should have gone through her things, but finding the robe threads just made me lose track. I should have been more thorough.”  
  
“Yes, you should,” Harry said, and it was clear he was reining in his irritation. “Scorpius, if I’d known Marcus had a motive, then I’d have pulled him in last week, and all this might have been avoided!”  
  
The rebuke stung, but he deserved it. Following Harry, he was grateful he wasn’t being told to go home, but he felt like an idiot. If he’d looked through everything at the time, then ... He stopped walking. At the time of the first incident ...  
  
“Marcus was abroad!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Marcus Flint was in Europe flogging brooms when Tamara was sent the pie, _and_ when the milk was poisoned. And when Pat was hexed. We had his schedule confirmed by Davies. ”  
  
Harry slowed his pace and half turned to face Scorpius. “We need to go through that schedule properly. We let things slide when we found out he’d known for years that Tamara was his niece. We’ll double check with Roger in the morning.”  
  
“He’s not in Britain,” Scorpius remembered. “Proudfoot told me he’d left for the Far East when Marcus pulled out of a trip there.”  
  
“Great,” Harry said through gritted teeth. Leaning against the corridor wall, he let out a vexed breath. “We don’t have proof that Marcus knows about the will, but we’re going to assume he does. I think we can equally assume that Jonah has no bloody idea that Tamara’s made a will and cut him out, so in my mind, they both have a strong motive.”  
  
“Where are we going now?” Scorpius asked, as Harry stood up straight and began to stride up the corridor.  
  
“ _You_ are going to get this organised,” Harry replied, handing the parchment over to Scorpius. “Whereas I’m going to call in an overdue favour!”  
  


***

  
  
From where he stood, Scorpius’s line of vision was limited, but he could hear everything. All he could see, in fact, was a prone figure on a St. Mungo’s bed, eyes closed and face grey. With her arms heavily bandaged, Tamara resembled a half-finished mummy, but it had been necessary to disguise as far as possible the fact that she was unharmed. The clammy pallor of her cheeks was the result of artfully applied make up, and a dose of Draught of Living Death, administered by Healer Pye, had rendered her immobile. To the casual observer, she was sleeping, but to someone watching intently, she was unconscious.  
  
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, wondering if he could risk pulling up a chair to wait it out far more comfortably. But just as he’d started to edge towards the wooden visitors’ chair, the door opened and someone in lime green robes entered the room. Stiffening, Scorpius studied the person, then relaxed. Pat, disguised as a Healer, was playing her part well, adjusting the bandages on Tamara’s arms.  
  
“The Flints have been informed. Harry’s outside and in position,” she murmured, just loud enough for Scorpius to hear. She straightened up. “Where are you, by the way?”  
  
“Left hand corner,” Scorpius whispered. “I’m using Harry’s Cloak.”  
  
She peered round, and flashed him a smile. “Oh yes, I can see your feet. You’ll have to crouch a little, or sit down. It’s a shame you can’t Disillusion yourself.”  
  
Secretly Scorpius agreed, but the security surrounding the room made the use of the Invisibility Cloak the only viable option.  
  
“Anyway, Harry says sit tight for the next two hours if you can. He’ll rope in Jacob to take over if you need a break.”  
  
“I’ll be fine!” Scorpius muttered and cast a Cushioning Charm on the floor for comfort. “Is Tamara okay? Only she looks really ill from here.”  
  
“In a deep sleep,” Pat replied as she made a note on the patient records to keep up the charade. “The make-up is very realistic, isn’t it? I did a double-take myself.”  
  
“Before you go,” Scorpius said quickly. Pat hesitated. “How’s the Zabinis’ baby?”  
  
“Calmer,” she replied. “He had a restless night, but is sleeping now, and Lavender managed to get some water down him. Pye says the worst is over.”  
  
The relief he felt was so palpable, he was surprised the Cloak was strong enough to hide the smile from his face. With a much lighter heart, he settled down on the floor, ensured he was fully covered up, and hunkered down to wait for Tamara’s would be killer.  
  
  
“Can you tell us what happened, Harry?”  
  
“Potter! Where is she?”  
  
“I demand you let me in!”  
  
“Is she going to be all right?  
  
“Who discovered her, Harry?”  
  
“Why is Potter here, Jonah?”  
  
“No idea. Potter, what’s happened?”  
  
Scorpius shuffled forwards and peered through the window, unsurprised to see Jonah and Marcus barging past James as they interrogated Harry.  
  
Harry surveyed them all calmly, and turned to Jonah. “Tamara Flint was discovered in the lake at Hogwarts.”  
  
“Hogwarts? What was she doing there?” Scorpius frowned as he tried to identify the voice. Female ... not Karis ... _Oh, it’s Tabitha._  
  
“Miss Flint was staying with the Zabinis,” Harry explained, and turned his attention to James, who was flourishing a notepad and a quill. “We had advised her to go into hiding because we had evidence her life was in danger.”  
  
“What evidence?” James demanded.  
  
“That’s something I am unwilling to share with the _Prophet_ at this precise moment,” Harry warned. “There will be a Press conf-”  
  
“But clearly the killer has struck again!” James interrupted.  
  
Harry licked his lips. “There’s no evidence that this was anything other than a tragic accident. Mrs Zabini has told us that Tamara was complaining of a headache and went for a late night walk. It was dark, and she had no wand, so it’s possible she lost her footing, fell in and got into difficulties.”  
  
“No!” It was Marcus speaking now. “Tamara was a good swimmer. I taught her one summer.”  
  
“It’s not just the water that you have to be wary of in the lake ...” Harry’s voice trailed off.  
  
“But you’ve basically failed to keep her safe,” James persisted.  
  
Scorpius saw Harry round on his son, barely keeping his exasperation in check. “We have apprehended the person we believe was behind the attacks. There is no evidence to suggest that this is anything other than an accident. Should she regain consciousness, Tamara will be able to enlighten us.”  
  
“There’s a doubt she’ll recover, then?” Tabitha asked. She sounded concerned, but Scorpius remembered she’d not been that bothered about her niece when he’d interviewed her.  
  
“She’s receiving the best possible treatment,” Harry replied.  
  
“And it’s Karis Flint you’ve arrested, is it?” James asked. When Harry nodded, he swivelled around to Jonah. “Why would your wife want your daughter dead, Mr Flint?”  
  
Jonah was silent, the contempt on his face as he stared at James evident for all to see.  
  
“Do you hold yourself at all responsible?” James persisted.  
  
“How dare you!” Tabitha squawked. “My brother has just discovered that his daughter might die and you’re implying-”  
  
“What about you, Madam Dobrev? Did you ever try to find your niece?”  
  
“Time for you to leave,” Harry ordered.  
  
James ignored him, turning now to Marcus. “Did you really teach your niece to swim? Any witnesses to that fact, Flint?”  
  
“What!?” Marcus took in James, bobbing around him, and then, quick as a hex, he lashed out. James dodged the fist, repressed a grin, but took several steps back.  
  
“ENOUGH!” Harry shouted. Not even using his wand, he grabbed James by the arm and hauled him out of Marcus’s reach. “The _Prophet_ can ask questions later. All you need to know now is that Tamara Flint came close to drowning tonight in the lake at Hogwarts. The Healers are hopeful that with time and the right care, she’ll make a complete recovery.”  
  
“I know he’s your son, Potter,” growled Marcus, “but if you want me to see him off.”  
  
“Er...” Harry looked from James to Marcus. “No, that’s fine. I’ll escort him off the premises myself.”  
  
Marching a struggling James down the corridor, Harry bellowed out that he’d be back soon, then disappeared around the corner.  
  
“Check he’s gone, will you?” Scorpius heard Jonah say. “I want to see Tamara.”  
  
The door creaked open. Scorpius held his breath and shifted ever so slightly backwards as Jonah crept into the room. He stared at the figure on the bed, then sighed and drew up a chair.  
  
“Sorry, Tammy, I’ve let you down,” he murmured, and took one of her hands in his. “I should have put you first, shouldn’t I? It’s the biggest regret of my life, you know, putting Karis ahead of you, but ... well, I thought you’d come back. Never dreamt you’d stay away for so long.” He sniffed. “You’re safe now, though. Potter’s locked her up, so all you need to do is concentrate on getting better. I’ll get the finest Healers here, okay?”  
  
He bent forwards; Scorpius crouched, ready to spring if necessary, but he knew now this was not the killer. Jonah’s grief and remorse was genuine, there was even a tear in his eyes, which hadn’t been forced. His hand smoothed a lock of Tamara’s hair off her face and then he gave her a small peck on the cheek.  
  
“I should never have married her, you know? All those rumours are true - she confessed as much but span some crappy story about Crouch being violent. I thought she’d reformed.”  
  
_Merlin, there is something in it._  
  
Scorpius inched forwards, desperate to hear more, but Jonah wasn’t saying anything else. He got to his feet, gave Tamara’s hand a small squeeze and left the room.  
  
When Harry returned he ushered Jonah into another room, saying he needed to speak to him. Jonah assented and followed, but not before handing Tabitha a handful of Galleons and asking her to buy some decent nightclothes for Tamara.  
  
“And get her some fruit, or flowers,” he said. Tabitha nodded as she started to walk off, but Jonah called her back. “Don’t get chocolate. She doesn’t like it.”  
  
“How could I forget,” Tabitha drawled. “She was sick all over my best robes at my coming of age party after Marcus plied her with Chocolate Frogs. Then again, you were ill that night, too.”  
  
For a moment, Jonah smiled, the memory lifting him temporarily from his gloom. “It was that awful ginger punch being served. Never did like ginger, and flavouring booze with it.” He shuddered. “Dreadful idea!”  
  
Only Marcus remained in the corridor. Telling Jonah he’d wait for him, he lingered by Tamara’s room. Scorpius watched closely, this time ready for any attempt, but despite being left alone for several minutes, Marcus did no more than press his forehead on the window as he studied Tamara, and then, he too, left.  
  
Feeling stiff, Scorpius stretched out careful not to disturb the Cloak too much. The door opened. He froze mid-stretch, then breathed easy again when he saw it was Pat.  
  
“Harry wants to know what happened with Jonah,” she whispered.  
  
“He was remorseful, and guilty about not admitting she was his daughter earlier, but he didn’t try anything,” replied Scorpius.  
  
“Did he have the opportunity?”  
  
“Yes, he was alone. Tabitha and Marcus were checking Harry wasn’t around.”  
  
“Okay.” Pat straightened Tamara’s bedding and made another note on the chart. “Harry’s trying to get hold of Jacob-“  
  
“I’m fine,” Scorpius interrupted.  
  
“You can’t save Tamara if you fall asleep,” she chided.  
  
“I won’t fall asleep,” he retorted, and he knew he wouldn’t, for his nerves were jangling far too much for him to relax.  
  
“We’re two doors away in a broom-cupboard. Shout if you need us,” Pat murmured as she closed the door.  
  
He settled back on the floor, pulling his legs up to his chest. Without Harry and the Flints outside, there was nothing to concentrate on except his thoughts. Deciding that thinking about Lily would only cause him to relax even more, he focussed instead on the case. There’d been something surprising about Jonah - not just the affection he obviously had for his daughter - but something else. But hard as he wracked his brains, Scorpius couldn’t pinpoint the source of his surprise, just that something had jarred him.  
  
Then his thoughts turned to Marcus. He could have sneaked in and disposed of Tamara quite easily when Jonah had left with Harry. But he hadn’t. He was struggling for cash, selling brooms for a living, and if he had been the one who’d broken into Tamara’s house, then he probably knew he was her heir. And yet ... he’d been abroad, and there was genuine warmth in his voice when he recalled teaching Tamara how to swim.  
  
This left Tabitha Dobrev. She’d wanted a loan from Karis and had been refused, but perhaps if she knew Marcus would inherit Tamara’s money, she might have thought him easier to manipulate. But she didn’t need money now. She’d sold her house to fund her new venture. _Maybe I just don’t want it to be her,_ he thought gloomily. Because of all the Flints, Tabitha was certainly the one he had the most sympathy for. She wanted to make her own money to keep her sons in this country, and from what he knew of his mum’s taste, and his aunt’s, Tabitha Dobrev’s hats would sell. His aunt, in particular, was always on the lookout for something quirky.  
  
And then the fuzz in his brain cleared. He couldn’t quite explain what had led to this shaft of light spearing his thoughts, but he knew, thanks to Tabitha’s memory of her seventeenth birthday party and his gossiping aunt, who the perpetrator was, and had a glimpse of their motive.  
  
At nine-thirty in the morning, he heard the door to the room click open, and didn’t flinch, even when he saw the figure of Tabitha Dobrev hovering at the entrance. It could be that she was dropping off the nightclothes, or else...  
  
Tabitha stepped forward, and as she did, the Anti-Concealment Charm that Harry had placed around the room slowly dissolved the disguise. It was not Tabitha in the room, but someone far smarter than most people had ever given them credit. Swiftly the figure moved to the bed, and unaware the disguise had gone, lifted a cushion from a chair, pressing firmly on Tamara’s face, crushing the breath out of her. Although heavily sedated, Tamara feebly raised her arms, but to no avail. Scorpius sprang across the room, pulling the figure away and wrestled them to the floor as he yelled for Harry and Pat.  
  
“Get off me!” she seethed, trying to heave him off.  
  
Grimacing, he reached for his wand, and bound her with a single jinx. “No chance! I’m placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Tamara Flint, the attack on Auror Belby, and the poisoning of Alexander Zabini,” he said panting slightly as he heaved her to her feet. “You’ve baked your last batch of gingerbread, Bulstrode.”


	19. Disguise and Concealment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry. I meant to updatye on Wednesday but forgot 
> 
> ENJOY!

The euphoria of the arrest had left by the time they’d brought Millicent Bulstrode in to the Ministry. Sitting at his desk whilst he waited for Harry, Scorpius felt relief more than anything that they’d caught Tamara Flint’s would-be killer. Coupled with the news that Alexander Zabini was expected to be discharged at the weekend, Scorpius could not have hoped for a better result.   
  
Millicent Bulstrode languished in a cell, remaining tight-lipped. She’d nodded to confirm her name on being charged, but that was all. An advocate from the Law Department would represent her during any hearing, but it wouldn’t be Hermione. The Flints’ housekeeper had no powerful friends or family behind her.   
  
“Is Harry in?” Hermione asked as she walked into the office.  
  
“Yeah, he’s just preparing a press release,” Scorpius replied, adding, “We caught Millicent Bulstrode for the attempts on Tamara Flint.”  
  
“So I heard,” Hermione said, smiling as she perched on the edge of his desk. “And you’re being very modest. Patricia Belby tells me you wrestled Bulstrode to the floor yourself.”  
  
He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned, but he could feel the pride of his first arrest bubbling inside of him. “My reactions are better than hers, that’s all.”  
  
“Right!” Harry declared, marching out of his office. “That’s the press release done. James can’t complain that we’re leaving him out of the loop.”  
  
“Pat said he played his part very well!” Hermione chided Harry.  
  
He grinned a little sheepishly. “James was suitably annoying and got all the Flints’ backs up. Nothing like a dose of provocation to force a person to act. Mind you, there’s already speculation about Bulstrode’s motive.” He rolled his eyes. “James has asked me if she was Imperiused.”  
  
“Could she have been?” Hermione asked.   
  
Both Scorpius and Harry shook their heads.  
  
“I set Anti-Concealments Charms around the room,” Harry explained. “If she’d been Imperiused, the enchantment would have disappeared along with the Polyjuiced disguise.” He stifled a yawn, causing Scorpius to yawn as well. “You should go home and catch up on some sleep.”  
  
Scorpius shook his head. “I’m fine.” Just then his stomach rumbled - the aching cavern from not having eaten for over twelve hours.  
  
“Breakfast, then. I’ll buy,” Harry decreed, grinning. “And you can tell me why you didn’t seem in the least surprised that Bulstrode was the culprit.”  
  
“Perhaps that’s just his Slytherin imperturbability,” Hermione teased.  
  
“My what?”  
  
“Your ‘cool’, Scorpius,” Harry replied and grinned. “Come on, I’ll grill you over a mixed grill. Hermione, do you want to join us?”  
  
She shook her head. “I popped down to say well done, but also to let you know that I’ve found someone Cormac’ happy with to retrieve his memories for the Pensieve. And she’s free this Saturday.”  
  
“It’s someone we can trust, is it?” Harry asked. “I don’t want the _Prophet_ accusing us of tampering with his memory.”  
  
“Are you impugning our former Head of House, Potter?” Hermione said sternly, then laughed. “Minerva McGonagall has agreed and is only too happy to help. You know how she loves visiting Hogwarts, especially when there’s a Quidditch match on. He still wants you there, Scorpius.”  
  
 _Saturday,_ Scorpius thought with an inward groan. _That’s when I’m supposed to be meeting Lily._ With Lily’s dad and aunt around, there’d be no chance to sneak off.  
  
“Sure we can’t persuade you to have at least a coffee with us,” Harry was saying to Hermione. “We could discuss arrangements for Saturday if you want to make it an official meeting.”  
  
She considered. “I would like to hear about the Bulstrode arrest as I’m acting for the Auror department this time. I might as well hear whilst I drink my coffee.”  
  
Just then, the fireplace in the department flared. Expecting it to be an update from Zabini, or else Proudfoot arriving for work, Scorpius was surprised to see a woman’s exasperated face in the flickering flames.   
  
“Jacob, are you there?” she demanded, and pressed her lips together.   
  
“Anthea,” Harry said and moved over to the Floo. “Can I help you?”  
  
“You can tell me where my husband is, and if he intends to come home at a reasonable hour tonight!”  
  
“He has been busy,” Harry replied and crouched down so they were almost at eye level. “You know what it’s like.”  
  
“Every night this week, Harry! You have others in the department, don’t you?” Anthea complained.   
  
“Well, since Pat’s injury, we’re a little understaffed, but I see what you -” Harry started to say.  
  
“And what’s the problem with paperwork?” she interrupted. “You’ve never minded him taking it home before now, and at least that means I see him, even if he does take over the table while he does it.”  
  
“Anthea, I -” Harry tried to interrupt, but Anthea Proudfoot was now in full flow, moaning about her husband’s hours, how little she saw him, that the caseload was too much and taking over their lives again.  
  
“This isn’t chasing Dark wizards, Harry!” she snapped. “It’s an old murder case, so there’s no need for this hurry, is there? Why you’re putting all this pressure on him, I don’t know. He left without breakfast this morning and didn’t even stay for his cup of tea! Anyway ...” She looked around the hearth, then directed a particularly baleful glare at Scorpius. “I can’t sit here chatting, I have a house to clean. Tell Jacob that if he’s late home again, his food will be in the bin, and not to wake me up!”   
  
Taken aback, Harry agreed. They waited for Anthea Proudfoot’s thin, white face to disappear before saying a word, and even then, it was in muted voices as if scared she’d reappear.  
  
“That’s Anthea Proudfoot, then,” Scorpius stated.  
  
“A forthright woman, to say the least,” Harry replied as he straightened up.  
  
“I didn’t know you’d banned us taking paperwork home.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Harry murmured.   
  
Smirking, Scorpius turned away. Meeting Anthea, albeit on the worst of terms, he had a sneaking suspicion that Proudfoot was relishing the overtime, and he wasn’t sure he blamed him.   
  


***

  
  
“So...” Harry said incredulously, “you’re telling me that Tabitha Dobrev’s coming of age party was the key.”  
  
Mopping up his fried egg with a piece of toast, Scorpius nodded. He swallowed his food, replying, “That, and something my aunt said.”  
  
“Explain,” Hermione said and took a sip of her coffee.  
  
Enjoying the audience, Scorpius looked around the cafeteria, bustling with Ministry workers after a mid-morning snack. Still hungry, he helped himself to more toast and spread it liberally with marmalade.   
  
“Scorpius! Stop being so enigmatic!” Hermione complained.   
  
Harry laughed. “Pot calling the cauldron black, Madam Weasley. Mind you, if my assistant doesn’t tell us soon, I’ll bump him back down to clerk -”  
  
“Okay,” Scorpius interrupted. “When I interviewed Bulstrode, she was baking.”  
  
“She’s a housekeeper, that’s her job, though,” Hermione replied, clearly unable to wait for the whole story.  
  
Scorpius smiled at her. “She was baking gingerbread and her exact words were that ‘Mr Flint loves it’. At the time I assumed she meant Jonah, because he’s her employer, but she was actually talking about Marcus.”  
  
Nodding, Harry took a slice of toast from the rack. “Same thing happened when I was talking to Zabini. He said ‘Flint’ and I thought he was talking about Jonah. Go on.”   
  
“Tabitha talked about her party. She remembered Tamara being sick after too many chocolates, Jonah as well, although he blamed the ginger punch and said he’d never liked the taste.”  
  
“So, Bulstrode liked Marcus and baked him cakes. Why would that drive her to crime?” Hermione asked. There was no disbelief in her voice. By posing the question, she was, Scorpius thought, enabling him to get his facts straight.  
  
“Daphne, my aunt,” Scorpius continued, “said something recently that I didn’t pay much attention to. She knew Millicent Bulstrode from school.” Harry and Hermione nodded. “When I mentioned that she was working for the Flints, she said that must be awkward. Dad was making a joke about ...” he flushed, remembering his dad’s caustic comments, “... about her ... um ... lack of ... um ... physical appeal.”  
  
Harry snorted, whilst Hermione raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Naturally my aunt was annoyed with him, telling us that Bulstrode ‘did all right on the boyfriend front’. So ... um ... what if she went out with Marcus at school, and ...”  
  
“They resumed the affair?” Harry scratched the back of his head and frowned. “It’s full of ifs and buts, Scorpius. We don’t have any proof.”  
  
  
Scorpius smiled slightly. “When I went to the Flint house with Professor Zabini, we disturbed Marcus. He was ... uh ... it was pretty obvious he’d just had sex. Anyway, he didn’t want the professor going into Jonah’s bedroom, but he wouldn’t let us call Bulstrode. I’m wondering if she was in the bedroom.” He wrinkled his nose. “Davey Flint told me his dad had another woman. What if it’s always been Millicent Bulstrode?”  
  
Whistling, Harry turned to Hermione. “What do you reckon?”  
  
“Sounds plausible,” Hermione murmured. “I didn’t know Millicent at Hogwarts, and have no idea who she went out with. Although ...” She screwed up her face as she thought. “She did have a partner at the Yule Ball. Flint had left by then, but she wasn’t alone.”  
  
“Which proves absolutely nothing.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione said wryly, “It proves she wasn’t desperate enough to go with Crabbe or Goyle. Knowing someone is or has been interested in you can give a girl a boost, especially at that age. You need proof it’s still going on, though.” Finishing her coffee, she got to her feet reluctantly, telling them both that she had to get to her desk. “Someone from my department will be along later for Bulstrode’s interview. Any idea when that’s likely to be?”  
  
“Later this afternoon,” Harry said, yawning again. “Bulstrode’s not co-operating and we’re both shattered.”  
  
She nodded and left. Scorpius resumed eating his toast and marmalade, then sat back in his chair feeling replete in both body and mind.   
  
“If I’m right about Marcus,” Scorpius said, “do you think he knew?”  
  
“All the evidence we have - the dress robes, the pie, the fact that he was out of the country- point away from him,” Harry replied. “I know he’s not the brightest spell in the wand, but he wouldn’t suggest chocolates. Of course, we should have known it was her from the start.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“The Dirigible plum pie,” he replied. “Can you honestly see any of the Flints cooking?” He shook himself awake and then took a slug of coffee. “Right, I need to get back to the Perks case, and as I won’t need you until two, I suggest you go home and get your head down.”  
  
  
  
Taking advantage of Harry’s offer, Scorpius took the Floo back to his flat. He was alone, and sleep should have been easy, but with a groan, he remembered it was Thursday, the day that George set aside for experiments. He could silence the explosions with a Muffling Charm, but nothing could stop the odd smells that permeated through from George’s back room. Instead of sleep, Scorpius settled for a long soak in the bath and a fresh set of robes. Then, picking up a book, he lay back on the sofa to read. With a smile, he realised the book was the one Lily had bought him all those weeks before as an early birthday present and this was the first time he’d looked at it. Murder and mayhem taking place in a fictitious Auror department, the sort of books he’d read avidly before, but now, with the excitement of the past few weeks, he laughed at the preposterousness of the plot.   
  
“Oh Merlin, a bloody glamorous American to show us all up!” he muttered, and threw the book back on the table.   
  
Closing his eyes, wondering if he could catch a quick nap, he was just drifting off to sleep, when he heard something faint, like a whisper or a hiss of steam, in the room.   
  
Harry’s stag Patronus nuzzled him. “Scorpius,” he heard it say in Harry’s voice, “meet me at Charing Cross Station. Urgent. Wear Muggle clothes.”  
  
Dashing to his bedroom, Scorpius pulled on a pair of jeans and a red shirt that Teddy had given him, then Summoned a jacket (another of Teddy’s cast offs), grabbed his wand, and raced to the door. Harry had said to meet at a Muggle station, in Muggle clothes, which must mean he didn’t want to be seen.  
  
“Good, you made it,” Harry muttered, when Scorpius turned up. He was standing at the side of the concourse outside the station, and although not in a heavy disguise, the woollen hat pulled down over his hair and scar made sure any wizard or witch walking past wouldn’t immediately recognise him.  
  
“What’s the matter?”   
  
“It’s awkward,” Harry replied and nudged Scorpius down a small street around the side of the station. “Someone’s been in my office, and the only person I know it wasn’t is you.”  
  
“Did they take anything?”  
  
“No, but the Perks file had been moved. Nothing was missing, but the pages from the diary are in the wrong order and I think they’ve been tampered with.” He stopped walking and sighed. “It’s also possible that I’m mistaken, and what’s happened is that someone’s taken a look and has passed on more information to the _Prophet._ ”  
  
“Can you talk to James?”  
  
He laughed. “I already have. Apparently the _Prophet_ has changed its angle, and they won’t print anything that could jeopardise a trial.”  
  
“What brought that about?”  
  
“I think Cormac had a word with his dad - Smith’s influence, no doubt.” He sounded very slightly dismissive, but corrected his tone. “He seemed to be the only one that gave a damn about her, didn’t he?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” replied Scorpius, and pondered the unpopularity of the girl who had alienated herself from practically her whole house for five years.  
  
“Anyway, I also brought you out here because I need to read the original, and -”  
  
“That’s with my dad,” Scorpius finished, feeling deflated because Harry’s Patronus had made this seem so much more important. “Uh, Harry, couldn’t you have just asked him to come in?”  
  
“Not without the entire department knowing,” Harry replied. “I don’t have any way of contacting him privately.”  
  
“And wearing Muggle clothes?”  
  
Harry blinked, as if the reason was obvious. “You told me that in public you’re estranged from your dad. I didn’t think us being seen together visiting Malfoy would be something he’d be happy about.” He smiled. “Besides, it gives you a chance to practise Disguise and Concealment.”  
  
  
  
Standing on the pavement outside his parents' flat, Scorpius looked from right to left and then quickly released himself from the Disillusion Charm. Beside him, Harry removed his Cloak and perused the front of the building.   
  
“Which is theirs?”  
  
“Top floor,” Scorpius replied, and gestured Harry towards the main door. “Dad might not be there, mind you, he does spend time at the estate, but he’s working on the diary here, so we might be able to take a look.”  
  
Harry looked at him dubiously. “After the last time, I think I’ll leave it to the expert.”  
  
His mum opened the door and deplored him for the state he was in. “What is this?” she demanded, picking at the over long sleeve of the jacket.   
  
“Leather, Mum. Leave it alone,” Scorpius complained as she continued to fuss.  
  
Then spying Harry, she appeared to change her tack, deciding he was the reason her son looked so tired and was dressed so badly. “And you can’t afford to buy one that at least fits properly. What do you pay my son, Potter?”   
  
“Mum!” Scorpius said, squirming. “We’re here to see Dad. Is he here?”  
  
“No,” she said sharply. “He was, but then he had to deal with a problem at the Manor.” Then she sighed, her shoulders drooping a little. “Come on in and have some tea, or something. Daphne’s out but should be back soon.”  
  
“Madam Malfoy,” Harry began, and Scorpius could tell the words didn’t quite sit right on his tongue. “When will your husband be back? I do need to speak to him.”  
  
“I have no idea,” she replied. “He only got here this morning, but then Narcissa summoned him back. It’s very annoying. We have a dinner party to attend, and if he’s not back in time-“  
  
“Mum,” Scorpius interrupted. “Can you get hold of him for us? Only Grandma’s not going to be happy if I pop up with my head in the Floo, is she?”  
  
With a great sigh, as if it really were too much effort, Astoria fetched the pot of Floo powder, and threw a handful into the flames. They both watched as she disappeared to Malfoy Manor.   
  
“She doesn’t want to live there, then,” Harry murmured.   
  
“Not permanently. At least, not yet,” Scorpius replied. “She and Grandma don’t get on very well. Take a seat. I’ll ... um ... see if Truckle’s here.”  
  
As if she’d heard, the house elf bustled into the room, carrying a plate of cakes. “Truckle is thinkin’ she heard Master Scorpius.” She stopped in her stride, her large, round eyes seeming to become larger and rounder when she spotted Harry. Like with all house-elves, especially to free ones like Truckle, Harry was something of an icon, and even though she’d met him before, she was still in awe whenever she saw him. “And Miss Lily’s father,” she said, and scampered backwards. “If Truckle had known, she would have been makin’ treacle tart.”  
  
“Tea and cake is fine for me, Truckle,” Harry said, smiling warmly as he relaxed into the sofa.  
  
“Don’t get comfortable, Potter!” Draco snarled as he leapt from the hearth. “You’re not staying.” He switched his attention to Scorpius. “Family means nothing at all to you now, does it!”  
  
“Draco, calm down,” Astoria spluttered, landing alongside him. “She’s all right.”  
  
“No thanks to Potter!” he yelled. “Now, get out, and if you think I’m helping you -”  
  
“Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “What are you on about? Has something happened to Narcissa?”  
  
“Your department happened!” Draco retorted. “The Malfoys have been free from suspicion for over twenty years now, and free from Ministry interference for fifteen, so if you want to search Malfoy Manor, then you will do me the courtesy of asking me first, and not imposing yourself on my mother!”  
  
“What search?” Scorpius asked, glancing from his dad to Harry. His stomach plummeted, remembering Proudfoot’s secret mission. Were the Malfoys under suspicion again?   
  
“See, darling, Scorpius didn’t know,” Astoria said, pulling on her husband’s arm.  
  
“And I don’t know either,” Harry said. He took a step closer, his wand in his hand but by his side as he faced Draco. “There’s been no search authorised by my department, Malfoy.”  
  
“Of course it was your department!” Draco declared, and now he withdrew his wand, pointing it directly at Harry’s chest. “My mother might be old, but she’d recognise you anywhere, Potter!”  
  
“ME? No, that’s ... impossible,” Harry replied. Now startled, he raised his own wand.  
  
“Draco, no,” pleaded Astoria as Draco eyed Harry with increasing menace. “Don’t do this.”  
  
“Dad, what time was this?” asked Scorpius urgently.   
  
“What?” Still angry, he flapped his free hand towards Scorpius. “I’d been here about an hour, so ... ten o’clock?”  
  
“Harry was with me,” Scorpius interjected quickly, hoping his dad was listening, “and Hermione Weasley. We were eating breakfast in the cafeteria.”  
  
Draco’s hand wavered; his eyes flickered to Scorpius. “Are you covering for him?”  
  
“No.” Scorpius swallowed, then, very deliberately stepped in front of Harry. “Dad, we were at St Mungo’s all night. I ... er ... arrested Millicent Bulstrode today and Harry was there the whole time. Then we had breakfast. It wasn’t Harry scaring Grandma.”  
  
“Bulstrode?” His dad’s attention twitched away from Harry. “What’s she got to do with all of this?”  
  
“Different case,” Scorpius said, hoping that if he kept his dad talking, he’d calm down. “Dad, he’s Head Auror.”  
  
Then Harry lowered his wand, and stepped back an inch or two. “Malfoy, it wasn’t me. But if someone is impersonating me to interrogate your mother, then I want to know about it.”  
  
Draco stared into Harry’s eyes for what seemed an eternity, and then, with a slight shrug, he took a side step towards Astoria. “She wasn’t interrogated, and she was not frightened. But someone demanded to be let into the Manor. And my mother says it was you.”  
  
“Where did he go?”  
  
“Does it matter?” Draco asked. “If this is an attempt to intimidate-“  
  
“What did this person want to see, Malfoy?” Harry barked. “It could be important!”  
  
“The library,” Draco retorted. “Mother showed you - or whoever it was - into the library. And he demanded she leave. There’s nothing missing, but as she thought these unannounced searches were over, Potter, she was understandably distressed.”  
  
“Did this person search anywhere else?”  
  
Draco nodded stiffly. “My room.”  
  
“And nothing was taken?”  
  
“I’ve said so, haven’t I?” Draco snapped.  
  
“Then whoever it was hasn’t found what they’re looking for,” pronounced Harry, adding, “And I think what they were looking for was Sally-Ann Perks’s diary.”  
  
“Who was?” Scorpius asked, and frowned. “The _Prophet_? Is it possible Grandma mixed up James for Harry? You are quite alike.”  
  
“I’ll check,” Harry muttered, “but I’m more concerned it was the murderer.” He stopped his contemplation to direct his next words to Scorpius’s parents. “Who knows this address? Because if I’m right, he’ll try here next.”  
  
Astoria visibly blanched and clutched Draco’s hand, but he seemed far more relaxed. “Very few,” he said. “The flat is protected against unwanted visitors. You, Potter, only got in because Scorpius invited you.”  
  
“Is that right?” Harry asked Astoria.  
  
She nodded. “Yes. This is a bolt hole and ... um ... I didn’t want just anyone dropping in whenever they fancied.”  
  
Scorpius raised an eyebrow at his mum, knowing by ‘anyone’ she meant her mother-in-law.   
  
Harry exhaled and relaxed his shoulders. “Okay, Malfoy, if you want I can take a look at Malfoy Manor, or send ... No, I could do it, or Scorpius, if you’d rather.”   
  
“My grandma won’t like that,” Scorpius replied quietly, catching his father’s eye.  
  
“It’s better if no one goes,” Draco snapped. “I’ve set additional wards around the Manor - screw your Ministry decree - so whoever it was can’t get back in. And if I find this was your son, Potter, I’ll sue not only his arse but the collective arses of the _Prophet_!”  
  
Harry raised his palms, declaring in that gesture that Draco could proceed however he wanted. “Then, if it’s all right with you, do you mind if we get back to work? I’d like to look at the diary again.”  
  
Muttering something to Astoria, Draco led the way to his study, taking out his anger on the door by slamming it shut when they were all in. “I haven’t got much further. There’s some guff about Montague and how ‘caring’ and ‘sweet’ he is,” he spat. “She bitches about Abbott, who apparently was seeing that twat Boot, at the time. And she ...”  
  
As Draco hesitated, Harry pounced. “She what?”  
  
“She had a run in with ... er ... me and Pansy Parkinson,” Draco murmured, and frowned. “I still can’t place her at all, but according to her diary, I docked points from her for being in the dungeons.”  
  
“She was probably waiting for Montague,” Harry replied, sounding thoughtful. “Would Parkinson have known who she was seeing?”  
  
“Doubt it,” Draco replied. “She’d never have stopped yacking about it if she had. Anyway, there’s no mention of her being pregnant, but then it’s only the beginning of April, so she might not have known.”  
  
“Can you show me the pages from February and March again?” Harry asked. “I need to compare them to the ones you copied for me.”  
  
“They were accurate copies!” Draco said sharply.  
  
“Yes, I know,” Harry replied. “But I’m pretty sure mine have been altered. That’s why I think the imposter at the Manor was after the diary.”  
  
Pulling out the copies, he laid one of the pages on the desk. Scorpius peered at it, noting it was the second page.  
  
 **February 15th**  
 _‘Ughh, he spent yesterday in Hogsmeade with her. I saw them in the Three Broomsticks and she was practically eating his face. So gross!’_  
  
Draco pursed his lips, then levitated the diary towards the desk. He performed the same counter-curse as before: waving his wand in two concentric circles until a puff of blue dust emerged from the book, letting it fly open to the relevant page.  
  
  
Scorpius read out the entry from the diary. “It says Madam Puddifoot’s here.”  
  
“Exactly,” Harry replied and stared at Scorpius, “and that’s the other thing. He wasn’t there.”  
  
“You said that before!” Scorpius said impatiently. “ _Who_ wasn’t there? And _where_ are you talking about?”  
  
“Madam Puddifoot’s,” Harry explained. “I _was_ there, and the one thing I can tell you is that Graham Montague wasn’t. So, whoever it was that Sally-Ann was watching through the window, it wasn’t him. There was another boyfriend before Montague.” He turned to Draco. “Who else was on that Slytherin team?”  
  
“Because naturally only Slytherins are capable of murder!” Draco erupted. “Look, Potter, if you did actually possess a brain, then maybe you’d remember something else about that particular weekend.”  
  
Harry didn’t reply, staring at both entries, and trying to evaluate what Draco was saying.  
  
“Uh, what should he remember, Dad?” Scorpius asked, when the silence became more than uncomfortable.   
  
“Johnson called a Gryffindor team practise for that day, Montague found out about it, and we turned up to barrack the team,” Draco explained to Scorpius, adding in a sarcastic tone, “So sorry to disappoint you, Potter, but you are looking elsewhere for your killer.”  
  
Glowering, Draco bent over the diary and muttered something that was either an incantation or a series of choice swear words. And Scorpius could see that Harry was literally biting his lip in an attempt to stop a continuation of an old argument. It was odd being with two supposedly grown men, and feeling as if he were the referee of a match between first years.  
  
“So who does that leave us with?” Scorpius asked tentatively.  
  
Harry shook his head. “Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, I suppose.”  
  
“I could go to Hogwarts and check Quidditch records in the library,” Scorpius suggested. “Unless either of you can remember.”  
  
His dad screwed his eyes shut, and said as if reciting the team list, “Bradley, Davies, Chambers, Turpin , Inglebee, Page, Chang.”  
  
“No, Page had left,” Harry muttered. “Entwhistle was in goal. Bradley was only a third year, so I can’t see it somehow. Chambers, Turpin and Chang are female.”  
  
Not bothering to disagree, Draco continued, “And no one could call Entwhistle glamorous! Hufflepuff were Smith, Branstone, Cadwallader, Jones, Whitby, I think, Hopkins and Summerby.”  
  
“Branstone and Jones are female, Whitby and Cadwallader were second years so weren’t in Hogsmeade. Smith is gay, so ... Hopkins and Summerby?” Harry queried.  
  
“But unless Sally-Ann wrote a name in the diary, we have no proof,” Scorpius stated. “Susan Bones only knew about McLaggen because she saw them together.”   
  
“We’re going round in circles,” Harry said gloomily. “The trouble with this case is that no one, except Smith, knew the victim, and Sally-Ann had stopped talking to him. I’d have thought Lavender would have remembered some gossip, or Hermione, but they barely remember her. She was, to all intents and purposes, invisible!”  
  
Sighing, he turned back to Draco. “Look, I didn’t mean that it could only be a Slytherin, but I’m bloody desperate here, so if there is anything else you can do to uncover who the first boy was, then I’d be incredibly grateful.”  
  
Draco nodded moodily, but before he could resume his study of the diary, the three of them heard the door to the flat open and a loud voice calling, “I’m back, and you’ll never guess who I bumped into!”  
  
“Merlin, that’s Daphne. Who the hell’s she brought here?” Quickly sealing the diary, Draco strode from his study, wand raised.   
  
“She was telling me that she met Scorpius very recently and what a hero he is. Did you know about the Bulstrode arrest, Tori?” Daphne continued. She stopped when she saw Draco, closely followed by Scorpius and Harry, but her eyes glimmered with relish. “Oh, what’s this, a school reunion, or a resumption of hostilities?”  
  
“Work,” snapped Draco. “Are you alone? Or did you bring this person with you?”  
  
“Alone,” Daphne said, completely unconcerned by Draco’s rudeness. “It was Tabitha Dobrev and she had her two boys with her, so I didn’t think Astoria would want their sticky fingers over her wallpaper. It was fun to catch up, even if she had to keep stopping to tell them off.”  
  
She approached, holding out her hands to Scorpius. He stepped forwards. “And look at you, my nephew-the-hero. Tabitha told me you’d arrested Millie Bulstrode! Well done. I wouldn’t have wanted to tackle her.”  
  
“Did you buy anything nice?” Astoria called from the other room. She stepped into the hallway and tugged on her sister’s arm. “I think you should leave them to their work, Daph. Draco’s been assisting Potter in the Sally-Ann Perks case.”  
  
“Hmm?” Daphne looked puzzled, and then her face cleared. “Oh, the body in the Forbidden Forest.” She smiled at Scorpius. “Well done on Bulstrode, darling. You must tell me all about it later. Of course, Tabitha had no idea about the connection to Marcus. I don’t think any of them did, or Karis would never have employed her.”  
  
Harry whipped around. “But they know now? How?”  
  
Putting down her bags, Daphne twisted around and faced Harry. “Well, _I_ told her that Millie was seeing Marcus at Hogwarts. I said to you she had a boyfriend, Draco. Merlin, she was the first in our dorm! Marcus didn’t want Tabitha to find out, so Millie kept it all very quiet. I only knew because I saw her once with a huge love bite on her neck!” Daphne started to laugh at the memory. “I told her she had to tell me who it was or I’d spread a rumour I’d seen her with Goyle. Anyway, after that, I used to cover for her, especially during Hogsmeade weekends.” Her eyes widened. “Did they resume their affair, Potter? Is that why she did it? Poor Millie, Marcus was never exactly reliable.”  
  
“You know how you were saying that what you needed was someone who knew the gossip at Hogwarts, Potter?” Draco drawled. “May I introduce my sister-in-law, Daphne Greengrass?”  
  
“Uh ... Miss Greengrass,” Harry began, taking a step towards her.  
  
“Call me Daphne, Harry,” she replied, half-smiling. “I suppose I should be insulted by Malfoy’s introduction, but how can I help the Auror Department?”  
  
They all sat together in the lounge, Truckle providing more cups of tea and cakes, whilst Harry quizzed Daphne. She munched on a biscuit, thinking carefully, then shook her head.  
  
“I don’t remember the name at all, but then we never had any classes with the Hufflepuffs, did we, Draco?”   
  
“Yes, he’s aware of that,” Draco muttered, loud enough only for Scorpius to hear.   
  
“I vaguely remember hearing about a girl that hadn’t come back. Pansy said it was exam panic, so I assumed it was Abbott, but ... no ... she really _did_ mess up her exams.”  
  
“We’re looking at the time before that,” Harry said. “February and in particular Valentine’s Day.”  
  
She started to laugh. “I remember you and Chang! Merlin, I saw you walking into Hogsmeade with her, all gangling arms and awkwardness.”  
  
Harry fixed her with a cold look. “I remember you as well. Part of Pansy’s gang.”  
  
Silence descended on the room, and to his surprise, Scorpius saw his aunt squirm uncomfortably in her chair. “Well, yes, we were rather ... um ... bitchy. Teenage girls are really not very nice.” Swallowing some tea, she took a breath. “Where were we? Oh, yes, Valentines’ Day. I met up with Anthony. It was a double date with Tabitha and ... oh, what was his name ... Kevin, something.”  
  
“Entwhistle,” supplied Harry. He leant forwards, the antipathy from moments before, all gone. “And that was Anthony Goldstein, was it?”  
  
“My Defence teacher!” Scorpius exclaimed in horror.  
  
Daphne smirked. “Well, he wasn’t a professor at the time, but he was ... um ... educational.”  
  
Scorpius cringed. “I really don’t want to hear this,” he mumbled. “Is it absolutely necessary?”  
  
“Daphne, could we get back to Valentine’s Day?” Harry asked, quelling Scorpius’s protests with a look. “Tabitha Flint was seeing Entwhistle, was she?”  
  
“Mmm, didn’t last long.”  
  
“Did you go to Madam Puddifoot’s?”   
  
Creasing her forehead as she pondered the question, Daphne slowly shook her head. “Not that time, no. It was very crowded, so we did some shopping, and then we all had a drink at the Three Broomsticks. Tabitha and Kevin left before us. Their date really wasn’t going that well. Anthony and I walked back quite a bit later.” She smiled to herself, obviously remembering something from the day.   
  
“You were seeing Goldstein in our fifth year?” Draco said, sounding mildly outraged.  
  
“Mmm, on and off, we saw each other for quite a few years,” she replied. “Still run into him occasionally. I really should pass on your love, Scorpius.”  
  
He glared at her and Harry hurriedly resumed his questions.   
  
“You said Tabitha and Kevin didn’t go out for very long. Do you happen to know why they split up?”  
  
She considered. “To be honest, I don’t think she was that interested in him. Tabitha went out with Kevin because he was ‘useful’.”  
  
“Useful?”  
  
“Played Quidditch. She liked Quidditch players back then. Kevin was a Beater for Ravenclaw. He was reasonably good, but not Weasley twin class.” She paused. “What does this have to do with the Perks girl?”  
  
“Maybe nothing,” Harry muttered. “You don’t know if Entwhistle went out with Tabitha again, do you?”  
  
She shook her head decisively. “No, he went out with Turpin after that. I remember because we had a few dates with them, too.” Rolling her eyes, she picked up a cake. “Merlin, that was scintillating. Listening to the pair of them squabble over Quidditch.”  
  
A clock sounded the hour, and getting to his feet, Harry sighed as he turned to Astoria. “Sorry to have imposed on you, Madam Malfoy. Scorpius and I should be going as we have some work to get on with. Malfoy, if you find anything, then can you contact me ... please?” Draco nodded. “Thank you, Daphne.”  
  
“Have I been any help?”  
  
“We can cross Entwhistle off the list, I think,” Harry replied, sounding weary. “Come on, Scorpius. Let’s get the interview with Bulstrode over with.”  
  
Picking his way through the chairs, Scorpius followed Harry, but just as he got to the hallway, he saw a stack of newspapers in the corner, newspapers his mum hadn’t thrown out yet. He crouched next to them, an idea emerging in his head. There, at the bottom, was the paper he was looking for.  
  
“Aunt Daphne,” he called, taking a stride back to the lounge.  
  
“What?”  
  
Flourishing the _Prophet_ under her nose, he gave Harry a sidelong glance before he pointed to the picture of Sally-Ann. “You didn’t recognise the name, but do you remember her face? You were abroad when this was published.”  
  
She took a long look at the photograph, taking in the pretty girl smiling at the camera, and then she nodded.   
  
“Have you seen her?” Scorpius asked, and held his breath.  
  
“Yes, I think I have. Although I didn’t know she was a Hufflepuff, or our year,” Daphne said slowly. “I saw her once or twice when I used to sneak out to see Anthony, so I assumed she was a Ravenclaw.”  
  
“Are you sure it was her?”   
  
“Oh yes. I took a good look,” Daphne replied, “because I saw her with someone, and - little cow that I was - I couldn’t wait to get back and tell Tabitha.”  
  
“I thought she wasn’t interested in Entwhistle?” Harry said.  
  
“She wasn’t,” Daphne stated, and smirking, she leant closer to him, staring into his eyes. “But she _was_ interested in the boy Sally-Ann Perks was snogging.”


	20. Old School Grudges

Millicent Bulstrode’s advocate, a wizard called Peregrine Zeller, notified the Auror department that he’d be taking the case and would see them for a preliminary interview at two o’clock. Scorpius hadn’t met Zeller before but had heard of him from his dad because he’d had been part of the team who’d fought the Malfoys’ application to have the Manor freed from Ministry restrictions.  
  
“Dad says he’s a ‘pompous prick who can’t believe anyone is cleverer than him’,” Scorpius told Harry.  
  
Harry pursed his lips. “Partly true. He has a reputation for taking cases others won’t touch. Sometimes they pay off. He’s smart, but luckily for us, he will underestimate you, so let’s get in there and play along with that, shall we?”  
  
“Miss Bulstrode,” Harry said as soon as he entered the interview room. “You were caught pressing a pillow into Tamara Flint’s face.”   
  
She didn’t indicate any response, save for turning her glassy eyes towards the door.  
  
“I wonder,” ventured Zeller as he edged forwards in his chair. “It looks to me as if my client is under the influence of some untoward Charm ... or Curse.”  
  
Scorpius stared at Millicent Bulstrode, unmoving, mute, and expressionless. Could she have been Imperiused?   
  
“And,” continued Zeller now running his fingers through his bouffant, silver hair, “my client does not appear to have any motive in attacking Miss Flint. She would not benefit from her death in any way, shape or form, Auror Potter.”  
  
Bulstrode didn’t flicker.  
  
“I had set Charms around the room,” Harry said.  
  
“Your ‘clerk’,” Zeller replied disdainfully, “was invisible, which suggests to me that your Anti-Concealment Charms were not strong enough.”  
  
“No, he was hidden beneath an Invisibility Cloak,” Harry countered. “It is unaffected by those particular Charms.”  
  
“That’s lucky,” coughed Zeller. “But of course, if young Malfoy had tried a Disillusion Charm instead, then we would know if your precautions had worked, wouldn’t we? There is still no reason for Miss Bulstrode to have acted in the way she did. She was a good and diligent employee who appears to have been manipulated by another who had much to gain.”  
  
“Who might that be?” Harry asked. He appeared to consider, then leant across the table. “Millicent, were you placed under the Imperius Curse?”  
  
She still did not move, but watching her closely, Scorpius thought he saw her eyes flicker towards him.   
  
“We know it wasn’t Karis Flint. She’d never have endangered her grandson’s life, so ... was it Jonah?”  
  
“Auror Potter,” interrupted Zeller. “Whoever Imperiused my client would have taken good care to conceal themselves.”  
  
“Malfoy, here, thinks it was Marcus,” Harry continued, ignoring Zeller. “He’s been checking his alibi because as a clerk, he gets most of the paperwork jobs. Some of them are really boring, but going through Marcus’s whereabouts when the attacks on Tamara happened has been, he says, interesting.”  
  
“It was Jonah,” Millicent muttered, then shook herself as if waking up from her trance. “I only just remembered, but I was standing in the kitchen, and he’d come in. He was asking me to do something with his owl, and then, I came over all peculiar. Like one part of my brain was really woozy, but the other was as clear as anything. And he gave me something to drink.” She turned to Scorpius, her eyes wide. “Did I turn into someone else?”  
  
“My clerk tells me you looked like Tabitha Dobrev,” Harry said, sympathetically. “But I’d like to know about the chocolates, Miss Bulstrode.”   
  
“Mr Flint gave them to me,” she said vaguely. “He said his wife wanted to send her daughter-in-law a present.” She shook her head sadly, seemingly free of all enchantments. “He must’ve worked out that was where his daughter was, and ... well ... he never liked the Zabinis.”  
  
“Auror Potter, I believe someone else should be sitting across the table from you,” Zeller said, a small self-satisfied smile on his face. “Being under the influence of the Imperius Curse _is_ a justifiable defence.”  
  
“It’s ... uh ... been used in the past, but there is no proof-” Harry said, appearing to flounder.  
  
“Exactly!” Zeller’s eyes were alight, his pointed nose already twitching with the scent of victory, as he tidied together his papers preparing to leave.  
  
And then Scorpius pounced. “Jonah Flint dislikes ginger, but his daughter’s always hated chocolate.”   
  
Zeller’s papers fell to the floor. “Has your clerk partaken of Babbling Beverage, Potter?”  
  
“Jonah knew she hated chocolate,” Scorpius persisted, and peered closely into Millicent’s dark eyes. Was he imagining the wariness in them? “He’d never have sent her chocolates, Bulstrode. You cocked that up.”  
  
An ugly puce flush seeped up from her neck. “He must have forgotten.”  
  
“It was you that worked out where Tamara was,” Scorpius continued, piling on the pressure. “You overheard Karis complaining that the Zabinis’ Floo was blocked. So you sent a box of poisoned sweets to Lavender, hoping she’d share them out. It wasn’t foolproof, but you were desperate now. And ...” Scorpius leant right across the table, an inch close to Bulstrode, not at all intimidated by her spite-ridden face. “... you didn’t give a toss if a seven month old baby died as well.”  
  
“If Brown’s stupid enough to feed her kid caramels-” Bulstrode began, then stopped abruptly, knowing she’d said too much.  
  
“I don’t remember saying they were caramels, Bulstrode,” Scorpius hissed.  
  
Deliberately ignoring Scorpius, Zeller faced Harry. “Potter, my client isn’t denying she sent them,” he argued. “And free of the Imperius Curse, who’s to tell what someone would remember? Why, it’s possible my client has got it wrong. Maybe Marcus Flint is the culprit, or Ms Dobrev.”  
  
“I hardly think Tabitha Dobrev would give Bulstrode Polyjuice Potion containing her own hair,” Harry pointed out.  
  
Zeller winced.  
  
“ _All_ the Flints knew she hated chocolate,” said Scorpius. “As well as Tabitha’s friends because at her seventeenth birthday party Tamara was violently sick after Marcus force-fed her Chocolate Frogs. But you weren’t there, were you, Bulstrode? Tabitha Flint didn’t like you. Even then you were Marcus’s dirty secret!”  
  
“Potter, are you going to take any control?”commanded Zeller.  
  
Harry leant back in his chair. “I think he’s doing rather well.”  
  
Taking heart, not just from Harry’s smile of encouragement, Scorpius carried on, now reminding Millicent Bulstrode that his aunt had been in the same dorm as her.  
  
“I saw her today. You must remember what Daphne’s like - she loves gossip and trouble, so she filled us in on what she knew about you and Marcus. Dad pissed himself laughing when he heard,” Scorpius mocked. “He thinks Daphne’s making it all up. Marcus was Quidditch Captain, Dad says, so why would he have bothered with you?”  
  
“Malfoy knew nothing,” she spat. “Up to his neck in Dark Magic, thinking he was important.”  
  
Scorpius sneered. “He kept his inheritance, though, Bulstrode! Not like your dad, losing everything. Mind you, these days Marcus isn’t a great catch, is he? Troll-ugly, drinks too much, and scraping a living. Was he the best you could get?”  
  
“We understand each other, you slimy git. We always did,” she seethed. “He made a mistake getting married. He knows that now.”  
  
“Did he suggest it, Millicent?” Harry asked, his voice soft. “Was that what happened? Marcus knew you loved him, played on the fact that you’ve been lonely ... and then ... I don’t know ... perhaps he promised to marry you if only he had some money...”  
  
“I wasn’t going to marry him without money!” she retorted, and laughed bitterly. “Have you any bloody idea what it’s like being poor, Potter?”  
  
“Potter, I need to speak to my client ... ALONE!” shrieked Zeller.   
  
Harry raised his hand to the advocate’s protests. “Did Marcus Flint know what you were doing, Bulstrode?” he repeated.  
  
Millicent Bulstrode took a deep breath. As she exhaled, she eyed the twitching Zeller with a degree of scorn, glanced at Scorpius and then stared directly at Harry. “’Course not. He’s an old softie and wouldn’t have gone along with it. It weren’t as if he even knew her that well. And he don’t really get on with his brother, so he wouldn’t have missed either of ‘em.”  
  
As she sat back in her chair, not caring about the consequences for herself, Scorpius felt a slow burning rage build inside him. “And what about the Zabinis?” he asked coldly. “They could have died. Their baby nearly did.”  
  
She yawned, and at that point, Zeller’s shoulders slumped as he saw another defeat with no possible salvage. “Brown and Patil used to laugh at me. Not that I was bothered. They was scum. But Zabini? He should never have married her. No sense of pride, at all.”  
  


***

  
  
She was walking across the grounds and towards the lake when he saw her, and he couldn’t stop his face from breaking into a grin. Holding something in her hands, and chattering away, she failed to see Scorpius until he whistled and emerged from the fronds of a willow tree.  
  
“What are you doing here so early?”Lily asked, breathless, yet happy. “I thought we’d arranged later. The Quidditch hasn’t started yet.”  
  
“Come here,” he called, and holding out his hands drew her close. “That’s ... Merlin, what _is_ that?”  
  
Giggling, she pulled away, and held out her hands. “It’s Pomme. I decided he needed some fresh air.”  
  
“Uh, Lily, he’s a bird. He flies everywhere.”  
  
“Yes, but he likes being with me,” she said simply, “and I don’t want to spend all my free time in the Owlery.”  
  
As if agreeing with her, Pomme nibbled Scorpius’s finger, then flew into the willow tree, perching on one of its spindly branches.  
  
“So,” Lily said, as she pulled away after a deeply satisfying kiss. “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here so early?”  
  
“I ...uh ...” Scorpius started, and gnawed at his lower lip. “Uh ... I’ve got to work.”  
  
“No! Why?” she wailed.   
  
“Not all day!” he added hastily, “but we - that’s your dad and me - are meeting a witness here, and ... um ... Sorry, I can’t get out of it.”  
  
“And Dad will want to watch the game, I suppose,” she said, and raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Yeah, I expect so. But I’m sure Professor Longbottom won’t mind if I sit in the stand with you. And ... well ... if it ends early, then maybe we can sneak off somewhere.”  
  
“I’d like that,” she said, snuggling up against him. “Meanwhile, you can tell me all about Tamara Flint. It says in the _Prophet_ that you made the arrest.”  
  
He grinned. The _Prophet’s_ tone had changed dramatically, swinging from disparagement and accusations of faux nepotism to applause that Harry had had the foresight to make his clerk an Assistant Auror. James had played down his own part in the day’s activities, but had mentioned a degree of co-operation between the paper and the Auror Department, stressing the need to help capture the lunatic who’d targeted one of their own in her attempt to dispose of the Flint heir.   
  
“Is Xander really okay?” Lily asked him, when he’d finished a brief version of the story, barely embellishing anything. “Natalie said Potions was cancelled yesterday and the day before.”  
  
“I visited,” Scorpius replied, remembering with a smile Xander’s chuckle as Lavender had tickled him, and the professor’s relieved grin. “After my heroic exploits, your dad gave me the day off, so I dropped by St Mungo’s. The Zabinis will be home today, I think.”  
  
“Good,” she whispered, and taking his hand, she led him away from the willow and towards a fallen log.   
  
He sat down, pulled her onto his lap so she was astride him, and started to kiss her again. And it was like he’d never left, their time together as easy as always. Lily’s kisses were sweeter than in his dreams, and something inside him felt warm and utterly whole.   
  
“I’ve really missed you,” she murmured.  
  
“Mmm, me too,” he replied as he nuzzled her ear. “Lily ...” He stopped speaking, enjoying instead the feel of her lips on his neck.   
  
“What?” she asked.  
  
His mind was awhirl, especially as Lily’s hands were now sliding to his waist. His thoughts careened to the Prefects’ Bathroom, or anywhere they could be alone. But the Squid splashing in the lake dragged him back to reality. Giving her a last kiss, Scorpius reluctantly pulled away. “I have to work. I’m supposed to be escorting someone to Vector’s office.”  
  
Lily didn’t quite pout, but stuck her bottom lip out mutinously. “I suppose I should be pleased that Dad’s not angry with you anymore, but -”  
  
“Yep, I know,” he muttered, and showing great resolve, he gently disentangled himself from her.   
  
Sitting next to him, she smoothed down her robes, and clucked to Pomme to return. “Are you back on the other case?” she asked, her voice quavering. “The ... um ... Sally-Ann Perks case, I mean.”  
  
He draped his arm across her shoulders, pulled her close and touched his lips to her brow. She sighed a little, but said nothing, waiting for him to speak.   
  
“Not officially,” he muttered. “But this is ... connected.”  
  
Lily nodded. “Genister’s back in lessons. At least I saw her in Charms on Thursday.”  
  
“How are you?”he asked, and gently stroked her arm. “Any nightmares?”  
  
She shook her head, a touch hesitantly. “Not really. I mean, it’s hard to sleep sometimes, but then I remember ... uh ...” She smiled a little, then seemed to think better of it and stared up at him, her eyes solemn.   
  
“Remember what?”  
  
“This sounds bad, but ... I ... didn’t panic. And I helped, didn’t I?”  
  
“Yep.” Scorpius tousled her hair. “You were brilliant. I remember you casting all the protective spells over the scene.”  
  
Kissing him on the cheek, Lily got to her feet, and pulled him to standing. “You were brilliant, too, Scorpius. You were so calm, and I think that’s what helped me. Besides,” she said, stepping away from him, “you’ll have caught the murderer soon, won’t you?”  
  
“’Course,” he replied non-commitally.  
  
“But you’re not going to tell me any more about it, are you,” she stated with a heavy sigh.  
  
“Lily, I can’t,” he pleaded, then stopped when he heard her stifling a snort. “Ha-bloody-ha, baby Potter. Now, get going, and I’ll see you later!”  
  
With a lilting laugh, and Pomme circling the sky above her, Lily ran back towards the castle. He watched her go, then waved when she turned around.  
  
“I have the Map,” she shouted. “So I’ll find you, okay?”  
  
He retreated towards the Forbidden Forest and ruminated on the recent chain of events in the case. His Aunt Daphne’s memory had proved more than valuable than anyone else’s, but there was still nothing that could be proved against their new suspect. Taking charge of all the evidence personally, Harry had told Scorpius to catch up on sleep, then retreated to his office with the paperwork and strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed. The only exception was to be Draco if he uncovered anything new, but Scorpius’s dad hadn’t sounded optimistic.   
  
“If she recorded her pregnancy in the diary, then she might have enabled a different set of curses,” he’d explained. “I’ll keep at it, but I’m worried that if I play around too much, then I’ll set off a Disintegration Curse.”  
  
Since then the only contact Scorpius had had with Harry was his Patronus again, telling him to meet Madam McGonagall because she’d decided she wanted to walk rather than take the Floo directly to the Castle. He’d met the former Headmistress of Hogwarts only once, when she’d been an examiner for his Transfiguration NEWT. At the time, he’d felt mildly intimidated by her presence, but he’d performed well, garnering himself an Exceeds Expectations. Then she’d been stiff, buttoned up in formal green robes and severe. But the figure approaching now, although still in green, seemed far more relaxed.   
  
“Mr Malfoy,” she called, greeting him with a handshake.   
  
“Madam McGonagall,” he replied, and gestured to her bag. “Shall I take that for you?”  
  
“I’m not completely infirm, young man,” she said. “But you may assist me if it makes you feel better.”  
  
He tried a grin on her and was rewarded with a small half smile. “Harry’s ordered me to look after you,” he said as he hoisted her carpetbag over his shoulder. “He speaks very highly of you.”  
  
“I’ve heard a fair few things about you as well,” she replied.   
  
“Uh ... really?”  
  
“Most of it good,” she conceded. “Pomona thought you a little impudent, which is not always a bad thing, in my opinion. but as sharp as a Venomous Tentacula. Molly Weasley, however ...”  
  
Scorpius swallowed. Lily’s grandmother had treated him peremptorily at first, only thawing during the last days of the summer. Lily teased him that he’d be getting a Weasley jumper for Christmas, but in his mind, the Wizengamot were still out deliberating their verdict.   
  
“Molly Weasley,” Madam McGonagall puffed, “speaks well of you, but is concerned that you need feeding up! I strongly suspect that she’ll be baking you and the Macmillan boy a pie every week.”  
  
“You’ve been asking about me, then?”  
  
“Certainly! I’ve been following the case in the _Prophet_ and was intrigued when I heard Cormac wanted you alongside him in the Pensieve. He’s a foolish boy, at times, and not always the best judge of character, but he’s strong-willed.”  
  
“Did you know Miss Perks?” he asked.  
  
“Not well,” she replied. “She was a pupil of mine, but as she didn’t distinguish herself by being either particularly good, particularly poor, or by playing Quidditch, I’m afraid she rather escaped my notice.”   
  
“Harry said you’d like to watch the Quidditch this afternoon,” Scorpius said. They were in sight of the stadium now, and he could see her perusing it. “Who do you think will win?”  
  
“It’s too early in the season to tell. Ravenclaw have a new Seeker - he’s supposed to be good.”  
  
“Jones isn’t bad,” countered Scorpius. “She’s a bit over confident at times.”  
  
“She never beat you, Mr Malfoy,” she replied. Pausing for breath, she looked up into the sky and at the trees fluttering in the breeze. “Reasonable conditions, too. Do you wish you were still playing?”  
  
“On a day like this, yes,” he replied. “But I also remember the driving rain, the scorching sun, and the fog where I couldn’t see the Snitch until it landed on my head.”  
  
“I didn’t have you down for a fair-weather player, Malfoy,” she remarked. “You always struck me as fiercely competitive. I even thought you’d have a crack at turning pro.”  
  
“I found something else I liked more,” he muttered, then stopped. “You’ve seen me play?”  
  
“Oh yes, I always try to watch Gryffindor Slytherin matches. To my immense chagrin, I missed last year’s fixture. The only time we ever beat _you_ , and I was in bed with the flu!”  
  
They resumed walking, still discussing the various games they’d both seen over the years. He could see her watching him out of the corner of her eye, and he wondered if she was comparing him to his dad, or maybe his granddad. So it surprised him when she suddenly asked after his mum.  
  
“She’s well,” he muttered. “Spends most of her time redecorating, and annoying Dad.” He watched for her reaction, not altogether surprised when her mouth formed a tight line at the mention of his father.   
  
“She was a bright girl. One of the ones I do remember,” Madam McGonagall replied, and sighed. “A shame she had to leave, but then you would not be here, otherwise.”  
  
He nodded, but he was getting annoyed at the assumption everyone still had that his existence had somehow blighted his mother’s life.   
  
“She hasn’t stopped being bright, just because she doesn’t have exam results,” he retorted, realising, too late, the ghastly irony that he was echoing Bulstrode’s sentiments from their first interview.   
  
“No, not at all,” she responded, adding in a less strident voice. “I apologise. It was rather a shock, that is all, when she left. I was the headmistress at the time, and tried to persuade her to continue her education, but ... well ... I think she felt it was too difficult.”  
  
“What? You’d have let her move in to Hogwarts with a baby?” he asked, in total surprise. “That’s ... um ...”  
  
“No, no, I meant she could have had private tuition and taken her examinations at Hogwarts,” she explained.   
  
“Ah.” They walked on in silence for a while, then he hesitated. “Uh ... Madam McGonagall, if Sally-Ann had told you she was pregnant, would you have offered her a similar arrangement?”  
  
“I was not headmistress then, and the occupant at the time would not have been sympathetic. Professor Dumbledore would have assisted, I am sure, for he was not a man to judge,” she thought for a while. “But it would have been much harder, with her not having a steady home life. Not impossible, but she would have needed strong support from the father ... and his family, obviously. Ah, here we are!”  
  
She stepped onwards, smiling in anticipation as she spied some pupils scurrying across the atrium and towards the pitch. “I do hope we won’t be too long, I would hate to miss too much of the match.”  
  
“That’s the Hufflepuff team,” he said, nodding to Sarah Jones. “Game’s not due to start for another hour.”  
  
Whatever Madam McGonagall been about to say in reply was lost when they both heard a loud, “Malfoy!” shouted from the main door.  
  
“Who is that?” she demanded.  
  
Scorpius grimaced. “It’s Jacob Proudfoot. He’s an Auror.”  
  
“Malfoy!” Proudfoot shouted as they strode towards him. “Where’s McLaggen?”  
  
“With Madam Weasley. They were taking the Floo,” Scorpius answered, adding belligerently, “Why are you here?”  
  
“Harry’s been held up,” he snapped back, then, seeing Madam McGonagall, he slipped a charming smile on his face. “Professor, how wonderful to see you. You’re looking very well.”  
  
“Yes, yes, Proudfoot. There’s no need to shout. I may be old, but I’m not at all deaf!”  
  
“You remember me?” He smiled again. “I’m flattered.”  
  
“Of course I remember you. As I said, I’m old, not senile! Ravenclaw, I seem to remember. Got an E for your OWL and an A for your NEWT, or was it an E?”  
  
“Held up where?” Scorpius interrupted.   
  
“He didn’t confide in me, Malfoy,” muttered Proudfoot. He held open the door for Madam McGonagall, but when Scorpius followed, he grabbed his sleeve. “You’re not needed.”  
  
Scorpius stared at him, taking in the dissipated eyes, the jowly face and the doughy skin of Proudfoot’s neck. They’d never got on. Proudfoot had disliked him immediately because of his name and his father’s past, but this, now, this level of animosity was escalating. “Cormac McLaggen wants me there, and is expecting me,” he murmured. “And until Harry instructs me otherwise, I’m staying.”  
  
Proudfoot raised an eyebrow, and something seemed to shift in his perspective. “Relax, Malfoy,” he said at last, and smiled. “I thought you might like some time with your girlfriend, that’s all.”  
  
 _Mmm, and get me into even deeper shit._  
  
Headmistress Vector was tapping her foot impatiently when they arrived at her office. On seeing her predecessor, she swiftly lost the look of exasperation on her face, but reserved a glare for Scorpius that encompassed Proudfoot.   
  
“Hermione and Cormac have been waiting,” she said reproachfully.  
  
“Not for long,” Hermione put in as she greeted Madam McGonagall with an embrace. “You’re looking well, Minerva.”  
  
“You, too, my dear.”  
  
Striding forwards, Cormac held out his hand. “Thanks for ... uh ... agreeing, Professor. It ... uh ... I ...”He coughed. “I appreciate it.”  
  
“Think nothing of it, Mr McLaggen,” she replied briskly and turned to the Headmistress. “Septima, where is the Pensieve? There’s not much point in delaying.”  
  
“And she wants to watch the match,” Hermione whispered to Scorpius. “Where’s Harry, by the way?”  
  
“I’ve no idea. He asked me to meet Madam McGonagall, but he definitely wanted to be here,” he muttered back.  
  
As Septima produced the Pensieve from a long cupboard, Scorpius stared at the Floo, shifting from foot-to-foot. “Uh, Professor Vector, I really do think we should wait -”  
  
“I’d rather get this over with,” Cormac said. “Potter knows the time, and-”  
  
“No,” interrupted Proudfoot. “Harry needs to be here.”  
  
Somewhat surprised, Scorpius cast a side-glance at Proudfoot. The older Auror, looking grim, continued. “He’s Head Auror. We should wait.”  
  
“But-” protested Cormac. “I’m supposed to -”  
  
“Perhaps,” Hermione suggested, “you could all watch the Quidditch match. I’ll go to the Ministry and see what’s keeping Harry. Is that all right with you, Cormac? We’ll come and find you as soon as we return.”  
  
“That sounds like a sensible plan to me!” declared Madam McGonagall. “Proudfoot, are you a Quidditch man?”  
  
“Yes, I -” He paused. “I was never much of a player, but enjoyed watching.”  
  
As Hermione propelled herself back into the hearth, Cormac looked gloomily after her, but followed the others out of the office. The game must have started for there were very few pupils around, the stragglers (mainly Gryffindors) now running down the stairs. Lagging behind with Scorpius, Cormac said very little, but it was clear from the way he was fiddling with his pocket watch that he didn’t want to hang around.  
  
“I’m ... uh ... going abroad to join Zach, but it’s hush-hush. I know this is important, but I have a Portkey booked for four o’clock,” he mumbled. “Is Potter likely to be long?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Scorpius admitted as he neatly dodged a trick step. “He wouldn’t have missed this unless it was important, and ... well, Proudfoot’s right, he should be here.”  
  
“Why? I don’t want Potter messing around in my head. That’s why I asked you.”  
  
Scorpius shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not officially an Auror, so my evidence might not stand up in court. Having Harry present makes it legitimate.”  
  
“Fine,” Cormac muttered, but he sounded very far from fine. “Merlin, that Proudfoot’s a twat.”  
  
Grinning, Scorpius stared ahead, at Proudfoot chatting in an animated way to Professor Vector. “No comment. But why do you say that?”  
  
“Smarming up to Vector. She didn’t like me much, probably because I was rubbish at Arithmancy. I dropped it after third year.”  
  
Scorpius snorted. “She didn’t like me much, either. What about McGonagall?”  
  
“Scared me shitless,” Cormac whispered, “but a bloody good teacher. And she’d fight your corner. Not like some of them.”  
  
Outside the sun was bright, but a fresh breeze was rifling across the grounds. His mind careening back to his school days, Scorpius saw himself in Quidditch robes and goggles, clinging onto his broom. A small pang that he wasn’t playing hit his stomach, but then, as the others walked ahead, he saw a glimpse of red hair behind a pillar. He slowed his pace.  
  
“Come on,” Cormac called out. “If we’re watching this match, then I’d rather be in the stand than freezing my nuts off out here.”  
  
“Uh ... you go on,” Scorpius replied.  
  
Following his gaze, Cormac smirked. “Potter’s daughter?”  
  
“Mmm, I’ll ... um ... sit in the stand with her.”   
  
“Sure.” Cormac strode away, raising his hand in a farewell salute, and caught up with the others.  
  
Lily greeted him with a grin and a kiss, standing on tiptoes to press her soft lips against his cheek. He slid his hands around her waist, pulled her up against him, and gloried in the fact that they were together and alone. Taking her hand, Scorpius led her away from the Castle and across the grounds towards the lake. The wind picked up, so he drew her closer, smelling the soft citrusy scent of her skin. Something tickled his hand.  
  
“You’ve still got Pomme in your robes!” he exclaimed, torn between laughter and exasperation.   
  
Giggling, she released the owl. He circled over their heads for a while, following their progress around the lake, before finding some sloe berries in a shrub far more appealing.   
  
“Are you going to be missed?” he murmured.  
  
“Probably, especially as it’s all over school that you’re back here, with Professor McGonagall. Sorry, I think it’s going to be impossible to sneak away. ”  
  
He tried not to sigh, instead he gritted his teeth. “Doesn’t matter.” He saw Lily bite her lip. “No, honestly,” he said, squeezing her waist, “It’s just great to see you. Besides, you need me watching that match with you, so we can suss out the new Ravenclaw Seeker.”  
  
“Okay, but let’s take the long way there,” she said. “Otherwise Roxy and Fred will monopolise you.”   
  
They meandered slowly around the lake, intent only on each other, until they found themselves close to Hagrid’s hut. The noise from the Quidditch crowd echoed towards them, mainly songs, the odd collective groan, but very few cheers. Hugo could be heard calling out the plays, bantering to the crowd, but as he’d yet to relay a score, Scorpius divined it was either a tight, close contest, or else a dull one.   
  
“Shall we stay here for a while?” he suggested, and pushed open the gate to the pumpkin patch. “Hagrid won’t mind, will he?”  
  
“Shouldn’t think so. He dug up the best ones for Halloween,” replied Lily.   
  
In the corner of the garden, Hagrid had placed a bench. It was large, probably one he used himself when enjoying an evening under the stars, so hoisting himself up on it, Scorpius allowed Lily to sprawl out across his legs and closed his eyes. It was peaceful, the only sound a chirruping of birds, and he could feel the tensions of the past few weeks ease from his body as he relaxed.   
  
“Do you miss Hogwarts?”  
  
“Hmm?” Opening his eyes, he found Lily had shifted up to sitting position and was face to face with him. “Um, a bit,” he admitted, and winked at her. “Miss _you_ more than the school.”  
  
She said no more, but rested her head on his shoulder. With even breathing, he knew she wasn’t upset, but there was something not quite right.  
  
“What’s the matter?”  
  
“Nothing,” she muttered. “I was just thinking how much can change over a year.”  
  
“Not if we don’t let it,” he whispered. Tilting his face down, he touched his lips to hers. She hesitated, momentarily, and then her hands snaked around his neck, and she nuzzled closer, moulding her body around him. His hand slipped inside her cloak and to her thigh before pulling her fully onto his lap. “This is crazy.”  
  
“So what? There’s no one here,” she murmured.   
  
And when she looked at him like that, her eyes lit from within, the tip of her tongue poking through her teeth, and the smile that spoke of infinite promise, he wondered how he could ever not be with her.   
  
“Keep moving!” A discordant voice snapped towards them.  
  
“What the...?” Lily squeaked, and hastily rearranged her robes.  
  
“Shhh,” Scorpius hissed. Pushing her off his lap, he slid off the bench and crouched behind one of the pumpkins. “Lily, stay down and don’t say a word.”  
  
“I don’t understand.” Another voice, bemused, but full of bluster. “Why does Potter want to see me now?”  
  
“Just keep walking. He’ll explain when you’re there.”  
  
“Where are we going, though?”  
  
“Scene of the crime. Harry thinks it’ll jog your memory if you actually see where it occurred.”  
  
“But Professor McGonagall-”  
  
“Is eighty-nine years old! Surely you don’t expect her to make the trip?”  
  
“I suppose not. We should wait for Malfoy, though.”  
  
“No need,” said the other voice. “He’s already there, Mac.”  
  
“Scorpius, what’s happening?” Lily whispered.  
  
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense,” Scorpius whispered back. Very carefully, he raised his head above the pumpkin, but what he saw only confirmed his confusion. Cormac McLaggen was being walked into the Forbidden Forest by Proudfoot.   
  
And then Cormac halted. He didn’t just slow his pace, but stopped abruptly. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re not -”  
  
But before he could turn, Proudfoot had raised his wand. _“Confundus!”_ he cried, and started to laugh as Cormac sank to the ground.  
  
“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Scorpius sprang from behind the pumpkin, shooting his hex straight towards Proudfoot. His aim was true, but Proudfoot’s wand, instead of flying towards him, ricocheted off a low branch and to the ground.  
  
“Give up, Proudfoot,” Scorpius shouted as he walked to wards them. “Harry’s on his way, and you don’t have a wand.”  
  
But Proudfoot, with a surprising turn of speed, dove to the ground, dodging Scorpius’s Stunner, and grabbed his wand back from beside the dazed McLaggen. “You sure about that, Malfoy!”  
  
“I’ll duel you if necessary,” Scorpius taunted. “But I’m younger and my reflexes are better.”  
  
“But you’re vulnerable,” hissed Proudfoot, and shot a hex to the side of Scorpius. In horror, he realised that Lily had stood up. She yelped as the hex glanced her arm.  
  
“LILY, RUN!” he shouted. “GET HELP!”  
  
“I won’t leave you,” she protested. Producing her own wand, she cast a jinx towards Proudfoot, but it was her wand arm he’d injured, and the curse veered to the side.  
  
“Go!” Scorpius ordered. “I’ll cover you, but you must get hel-aghh!” A yellow hex, hit him on the leg, and he doubled up in pain.   
  
When duelling at school, his former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had waxed lyrical over Scorpius’s reflexes and his knack for choosing the right spell. But this was different. When he’d duelled before, the aim had been to win, but this was defence; Proudfoot, for some reason unknown to Scorpius wanted to maim - or kill. Through watering eyes, he watched Lily fire another hex. This time it hit Proudfoot on the side, but her intent was half-hearted, as if unaware that this man was actually trying to harm them.  
  
“You stupid cow,” spat Proudfoot, and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the remains of a glass vial, mashed and empty.  
  
“Leave,” Scorpius said again. “I can take care of this, but you must find help.”  
  
“I already have, “she whispered. “But Scorpius, this is Dad’s colleague and I’ve known him for years.” And then she looked up. “Jacob, it’s me, Lily. I don’t know what the matter is, but ...”  
  
“Potter’s daughter,” Proudfoot hissed, and unleashed a spell. One cord flew from his wand, whipping around her wrist. He tugged; she cried out and her wand fell to the ground.   
  
“Don’t hurt her,” Scorpius yelled. “Whatever this is, Proudfoot, it’s got nothing to do with Lily.”  
  
She was struggling but helpless as Proudfoot reeled her in. “You know what to do, Malfoy,” he called, and held his wand to her throat.  
  
He dropped his wand and stood straight, waiting for the hex. Whatever was happening with Proudfoot, he was too out of control to listen to reason. With a chuckle, Proudfoot unleashed another cord, straight at Scorpius, but this time lashing it around his ankle. He pulled hard - and Scorpius fell to the ground.  
  
“Don’t hurt him,” sobbed Lily. “Please, Jacob, I don’t know what’s going on, but Scorpius and I ... we won’t tell.”  
  
“Of course you will, you stupid bitch!”  
  
Despite now being dragged through the mud and grass, Scorpius knew the words were wrong, out of place, an insult from a different mindset. Jacob Proudfoot had never liked him - the feeling was mutual - but he was consummately polite to witches, whatever the provocation.  
  
“Jacob, listen-” began Lily.  
  
“It’s not Jacob,” Scorpius cried urgently. “I should have realised when you stopped being quite so patronising and called me Malfoy instead of lad. And Lily just broke your dose of Polyjuice Potion, didn’t she?”  
  
“Very clever, Malfoy,” his enemy rasped. “For fifty housepoints, who am I, then?”  
  
Scorpius took a breath, desperate to keep him talking. Lily had said she’d sent for help; he had no idea how, but he trusted her implicitly. In Hagrid’s garden, they’d be discovered easily. But dragged into the Forest, their captor had the advantage. “You underestimated McLaggen, didn’t you? He realised you weren’t Proudfoot. What was it? The use of his nickname, ‘Mac’ instead of his surname? It’s the sort of thing only a friend would use.”  
  
“Save the denouement, Malfoy. I’m not bloody interested,” muttered the fake Proudfoot, who’d hoisted both cords across his shoulder and started to pull both Scorpius and Lily towards the Forest.   
  
“Harry knows it’s you!” Scorpius yelled desperately, and pulled back with his leg. Proudfoot halted, releasing Lily, who, although still tethered, ran to Scorpius’s side. “We also know it was an accident,” he continued. “You didn’t mean to kill Sally-Ann, did you? Give yourself up, and Harry will listen. He’s a fair man.”  
  
“Scorpius, who is he?” asked Lily, her voice trembling.  
  
“He’s a failed Quidditch player, now selling brooms,” Scorpius said clearly, delighted when his enemy’s eyes narrowed in fury. “Lily, this is Roger Davies.”


	21. The Whirligig of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter! Thank you all very much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this denoument.

_And thus, the whirligig of time brings in his revenges!_

  
  
“Very clever, Malfoy,” muttered the man in front of them.   
  
As the words left his lips, his face began to change. Proudfoot’s doughy jowls tautened, his grey hair darkened, his body became leaner, and his fingers thinned and lengthened. There in front of them was the ex-Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, failed professional, now a broomstick designer. A successful man, but also one who, when cornered, had reacted desperately. Scorpius’s eyes flickered to the hands, remembering a cloaked figure in Diagon Alley, hissing that McLaggen was their man.   
  
Roger Davies glared down at Scorpius, a cold glint in his eyes as he surveyed the pair of them.   
  
“Get up,” he ordered Lily. “We’re going for a walk.”  
  
She gulped but shook her head.   
  
“I’m not going to hurt you, Miss Potter, but I will hurt your boyfriend if you don’t do as I say.”  
  
“Why do you want her?” Scorpius demanded.   
  
“I thought Aurors were supposed to be bright,” Davies taunted. “You must know I can’t let you go free... at least not yet. You’ll both run off and tell Potter, won’t you?”  
  
“So, what’s your plan?” Scorpius asked. He sat up slightly, wondering if he could tug on the cord and unbalance Davies. But Davies had his wand trained on Lily, and any movement could set him firing a hex.   
  
“You can’t recall what you can’t remember,” replied Davies. “It won’t take long, and I doubt it will hurt.” He stood a while, as if deliberating the best way to tackle his dilemma, then smiled. “Which reminds me. I must deal with Mac. Can’t have him inadvertently spilling the beans.”  
  
“It won’t make a difference!” Scorpius blustered, improvising wildly. “The Pensieve doesn’t need McLaggen to remember, it just needs the memories. Madam McGonagall can still extract them.”  
  
Davies’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time self-doubt flickered on his face.  
  
“I don’t want to kill him, though,” he stated, his tone moderately regretful, as if he’d just discovered his favourite sandwich wasn’t available in the cafeteria. “Maybe I could try altering them, instead. I’m sure there’s a spell”  
  
“NO!” Lily shouted. She stood up. “I’ll come with you.”  
  
“Don’t go anywhere,” Scorpius yelled, and then he gave the cord tethering him to Davies a hefty tug.   
  
Although it didn’t have the desired result of unbalancing his captor, Davies did switch his attention from Lily and back to Scorpius.  
  
“Davies,” he continued, seizing the moment. “We know you didn’t mean to kill Sally-Ann. It wasn’t murder, was it? ”  
  
“Like that will make a difference!” Davies retorted. “Potter’s looking for a result. And no one’s going to listen to me.”  
  
“She fell and cracked her head,” Scorpius continued. He edged forwards, wondering if he’d be able to get to his feet to stand in front of Lily. “We know there was no magic involved. So, it must have been an accident.”  
  
For a long time, all Scorpius could hear were breaths. His own, deliberately slowing as he tried to play for time, Lily’s rapid and ragged, and Davies exhaling loudly as he considered his options.   
  
“Harry knows it’s you,” he said softly. “My dad’s been deciphering an old diary of Sally-Ann’s and your name’s appeared. You can’t Obliviate everyone, Davies. And I’m sure you don’t want to live on the run for the rest of your life.”  
  
“Better than Azkaban.”  
  
Scorpius shrugged. Infinitesimally slowly, he started to rise, then sidestepped in front of Lily, murmuring to her to keep down. “It won’t come to Azkaban. It was a long time ago. You were young and ... well ... no one remembers her.” He swallowed. “No one’s exactly hammering on the door for justice, are they? It’s not like you’ve got a Death Eater for a dad.”  
  
The cord slackened, Lily’s too, as Davies drew a deep breath. “It was an accident,” he implored. “She wanted ... she told me ... she said I was the father and ... I couldn’t... I didn’t know what to do. Hell, I was studying for NEWTs, and wanted to play Quidditch. I didn’t want to be a dad. And she kept on at me. Just ... wouldn’t stop going on and on and on about how we had to marry. How she needed my support, and my family’s support, because she had nowhere to go.” Barely pausing for breath, Davies continued and it was as if a great dam had collapsed as the words gushed out of him. “My parents ... Merlin, you have no idea. They wouldn’t have understood. Although ...” He stopped speaking, pondering Scorpius. “Maybe you do understand. Your dad’s disowned you, hasn’t he?”  
  
Scorpius nodded, not wanting to stop the man from talking.  
  
“Dad wasn’t a Death Eater, and ... look ... he despised You-know-Who ... but he wanted me to marry well. We had certain standards, you know, money - that sort of thing and ...” He started to laugh, sounding incredulous. “I’d been out with a fucking Tri-Wizard Champion. I’d screwed a Veela, and half the witches at Hogwarts were after me, ‘specially after Diggory died. So why the fuck did that stupid bint think I’d chuck everything away for her?”  
  
Scorpius forced a laugh. “Yeah, stupid of her. I mean you’re a successful businessman now.”  
  
Behind him, Scorpius heard Lily gasp. Without turning, he hissed at her to stay quiet, hoping she’d realise he was keeping Davies talking until whatever help she’d sent for could arrive.  
  
Sadly Lily was no Legilimans. “But there was a baby!” she cried. “You killed a baby!”  
  
The cords tightened and Scorpius was slammed back on the floor, taking Lily down as he did so. “Keep quiet,” he pleaded. “Don’t make him angry, Lily, please!”  
  
A flare of understanding haunted her eyes. She nodded dumbly.  
  
“Sanctimonious. Just like your bloody dad,” Davies declared. If he’d been shedding tears for Sally-Ann, they’d dried now, all thoughts of her death consigned firmly to the past as he considered his future.   
  
“I don’t think I believe you, Malfoy,” he said. “The diary pages your dad copied prove nothing. My name’s not mentioned. Potter has no idea, and once I dispose of you three, then there’s nothing to connect me to Sally-Ann. I didn’t exactly tell anyone I was seeing her.”  
  
He heaved on the cords, dragging the pair of them across the ground until he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. At the outskirts, he reeled Lily towards him, still keeping one eye on Scorpius, a small smile playing on his lips.   
  
“My aunt, Daphne Greengrass, saw you!” Scorpius shouted desperately. “She was going out with Goldstein, and saw you kissing Sally-Ann. She told Harry, and my dad, and my mum was there. Everyone knows, Davies. You won’t get- AGHHH!”  
  
The jet of blue hit him squarely on the chest, knocking every breath out of him. In pain and wandless, Scorpius could only watch as Davies fired another hex his way. By moving minutely, it missed his face, but caught his shoulder. From the numbness now rippling through him, Scorpius realised that the hex had been meant not to slow him up, or stop him talking, but to silence him - possibly forever. He groaned and slumped back fully on the grass, playing dead, but kept one eye slightly open, as he tried to figure out a way to help Lily.   
  
She was screaming now, screaming with rage, and fear and helpless fury, her fists thumping him on his chest.  
  
“Will you shut up!” Davies complained, then with the back of his hand, he cuffed her across the face and shoved her against a tree. He turned his wand to Lily, holding it to her temple, whilst his other hand slipped to her neck. “Don’t worry,” he said, altogether far too calm. “This won’t hurt, at all, but you have to see I can’t possibly let you go. And Malfoy’s dead, so you losing your memory will be a blessing, don’t you think?”  
  
She was still struggling, not willing to give up, even if he had promised it would be painless. Scorpius saw Lily, her arms flailing, still screaming for help. But there was no one nearby. No one capable.   
  
“Expelliarmus!” It was a groaned incantation, but the jet of red struck home. And Scorpius had no idea who’d cast the spell, but he watched as Proudfoot’s wand spun out of Davies’s grasp, twirling in the air.   
  
_Please be Harry!_  
  
But it wasn’t Harry. McLaggen had woken from his stupor, and was heading their way.  
  
“I won’t be thwarted. Not by you, Mac,” warned Davies, laughing as he pulled out another wand. “So who shall I deal with first, Miss Potter? McLaggen, or you?”  
  
“Leave her alone.” Scorpius heard McLaggen say. His wand was raised, but he was wobbling on his feet, and as he lurched towards them, he stumbled hitting his head on an exposed tree root.  
  
Seemingly invigorated, Lily kicked Davies in the shins, then, when he bent double, she leapt on his back and tried to loop the cord that bound her, around his neck. But he was strong, far stronger than she, and staggering backwards, he slammed her into the tree trunk. She loosened her hold, slumping to the ground.  
  
“No.” Horrified, Scorpius saw blood pouring out of a gash in her head. She wasn’t moving, and from where he lay, he couldn’t see if she was breathing. There was nothing he could do. McLaggen was out cold, and whatever help Lilyhad sent for would not reach them in time.   
  
Davies placed his spare wand to Lily’s temple. With a smile, he licked his lips. “Not sure there’s any point to this,” he said to himself. “Looks as if you’ll be dead soon, anyway. But just in case that idiot Hagrid discovers you.”   
  
But as he spoke the incantation to wipe her memory forever, a curious thing began to happen. The wand in his hand, a wand of pale wood, jerked violently. Sparks appeared, not from the tip, but the end Davies was holding. He gasped, but held firm, repeating the spell in a louder voice. But the wand reacted again, and even as Davies tried to let go, it glowed brightly, the sparks now turning to flames.  
  
“What is this?” Davies seethed, and in almost comic disarray, he tried to shake the wand off him, but it stayed burning in his grasp. Screeching in pain, he lunged to the ground, batting his arm up and down on the damp grass, desperate for relief. The wand spiralled out of his hand, twisting across the mud and stopping only when it reached Scorpius.  
  
 _It’s her wand,_ Scorpius thought hazily as he groped for it. _Thank you, Sally-Ann._  
  
Heaving on to all fours, Scorpius crawled across to Davies, and although shaking, he managed to shoot water to douse the flames, following up with a Full Body-Bind Curse.   
  
“Lily! Scorpius!” The voice came clear and so very welcome towards him.   
  
“We’re here, Harry!” he groaned. “I’m okay, but Lily ...”  
  
“Merlin, no.” Racing past Scorpius, Harry ripped off his cloak and wrapped it around her, staunching the flow of blood with its hood. Agonising seconds passed until he lifted his head and half turned to Scorpius. “She’s breathing; we must get her to the hospital wing.”  
  
“How did you know we were here?” Scorpius asked, but his voice was quiet. The numbness he’d felt earlier was wearing off now, and as the pain shuddered through his body, he collapsed back on the ground.   
  
A pair of arms slid around him. “Potter’s daughter sent her owl with his Map. We’d just arrived at Vector’s office.”  
  
“Dad? Why are you here?” Scorpius muttered.   
  
“I was with Potter when Granger ... _Hermione_ arrived. And you know me, I thought it would wind up Vector to have both you and me there,” Draco mocked, but his voice was broke as he hoisted Scorpius onto his side. “Merlin, look at the state of you.”  
  
“’M fine. See to Lily, please,” Scorpius rasped. But as he tried to get up, he fell back into his dad.  
  
“I think Potter’s got that under control,” Draco whispered. “Don’t worry, Scorpius. She’s safe now, and so are you.”   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius watched as Harry cradled Lily in his arms. And then he saw Lily’s hand, a fluttering movement on her dad’s arm, before he finally gave in to the bliss of unconsciousness.   
  


***

  
  
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out of it. He vaguely remembered being hauled by Portkey straight to St. Mungo’s, where his dad had demanded priority treatment, and then various Healers had examined him, one pummelling his arms and legs in order to check his mobility, whilst another ordered him to imbibe vile tasting potions that made him retch. Throughout it all, his dad had stayed, leaving only once to fetch his mum. Both had stayed in the room overnight, his mum whispering words of comfort, his dad silent.   
  
It was only now, as the Head Healer made her rounds and insisted on some privacy with her patient, that the pair of them had been persuaded to return home, freshen up and get some rest.   
  
“You scared them both,” said Healer Rackshaw, an irascible witch with corrugated grey curls and an almost smile.   
  
“How’s Lily Potter?” he asked.   
  
“She’s not my patient,” she replied. “But I believe Miss Potter is doing as well as can be expected.”  
  
He slid up to sitting, refusing to wince, even when his shoulder protested. “What does that mean?”  
  
“I cannot discuss treatments with you, but rest assured she is in the best place,” she said sternly.  
  
“What about her memory?” he demanded, remembering Davies’s last spell.   
  
“She’s unconscious, as were you, so I suspect they have no idea,” she replied and watched him thoughtfully. “Was Obliviate cast?”  
  
“Yes,” Scorpius said. “But it might not have worked.”  
  
“They will know soon enough,” she said grimly, and handed him another potion. “Drink this, and if you manage not to spit it out, I’ll let you have another visitor.”  
  
He gulped at the green potion, swallowing quickly to get it over with, but still his face convulsed at the horrible taste. “Who?”  
  
“He says he’s your cousin,” she replied, sounding dubious, “but he wanted to avoid your parents.”  
  
Teddy Lupin loped into the room a few minutes later, looking only slightly wary. He’d fixed a smile on his face, but beneath the tanned face, Scorpius could see shadows under his eyes.   
  
“Lily will be fine,” he interrupted before Scorpius had a chance to speak. “I’ve not been able to see her - it’s immediate family only - but Victoire managed to get assigned to the case. It’s how I knew you were here, actually.”  
  
“Thanks,” Scorpius muttered. “Is she awake?”  
  
“They want her to sleep so Victoire says they’ve been dosing her with a sleeping potion and Skele-gro.” He sat heavily in one of the wooden chairs and shuffled it forwards. “How are you?”  
  
Scorpius shrugged, then flinched. “In pain, but that’s all. The Healer says I’ll make a complete recovery. It just might take a while.” He grinned at the concern on Teddy’s face. “Aren’t you supposed to bring a patient grapes, or something?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Teddy muttered and pulled out a paper bag. He smiled. “I bought you some apples. Thought you might know someone who’d like to share them.”  
  
“Perfect,” Scorpius replied.  
  
Letting Teddy ask the questions, he filled him in on the events of the previous day, then listened as Teddy passed on the well wishes from the entire Weasley and Potter family.   
  
“And Gran wants to know if she can visit tomorrow, but not if it will be awkward with your parents.”  
  
“I’d like to see her,” Scorpius replied, smothering a yawn.   
  
“I should go,” said Teddy. He stood up, certainly looking much brighter than when he’d entered the room.  
  
“You don’t have to. Mum and Dad’ll be back soon. I’d like you to meet them.”  
  
“Nah, you’re tired,” Teddy replied. “Let’s leave the family reunions for when you’re better, okay?”  
  
But as Teddy opened the door, a loud wailing could be heard. Not just wails, but vehement cries, and a hysterical girl’s voice screeching his name. Forgetting the Healer’s instructions that he was to rest, Scorpius pulled back the covers of his bed, and slid out his legs. He wobbled, but clutched the end of the bed before Teddy strode back to him.   
  
“Get back to bed.”  
  
“No, that’s Lily,” insisted Scorpius. “I must see her.”  
  
“I told you. Only Harry’s allowed, and Ginny when she gets here.”  
  
The cries didn’t fade, in fact they got louder, piercing the air.   
  
“HE’S DEAD!” Lily screeched. “GET OFF ME!”  
  
A Healer bowled out of a room three doors away. Young, slim and impossibly beautiful, she ran blindly down the corridor towards Scorpius.   
  
“Victoire, what’s happening?” called Teddy.  
  
Halting, Victoire gulped, swept her hair off her face, and ran to them. “They woke her up, to see if the Memory Charm had affected her. But she thinks you’re dead, Scorpius. They can’t convince her otherwise, and the Healer’s concerned that somehow her mind was cursed. She’s hysterical and nothing Uncle Harry says makes a difference. Scorpius, I know you’re supposed to be resting, but-”  
  
“Get me there,” Scorpius ordered.   
  
“You need to stay in bed,” Teddy protested. He started to change his hair to blond. “I can morph into you, no problem.”  
  
“Walk me there,” Scorpius repeated. “Or I’ll bloody crawl if I have to!”  
  
Victoire had not been exaggerating. Her head swathed in bandages, Lily was sitting bolt upright in her bed, refusing to be calmed back to sleep. Her fingers raked over her arms, leaving scratches as Harry tried desperately to soothe her.  
  
“He’s alive, Lily,” he was saying. “But he has to rest, and so do you. You must sleep now. He’s not dead, I promise, Lily. I promise you.”  
  
“I SAW HIM!” she screeched, her eyes wild. “HE WAS KILLED! HE DIDN’T MOVE!”  
  
“Lily, I’m okay.”  
  
Three pairs of eyes swivelled his way. Supported by Victoire, Scorpius limped into the room. Harry, still holding Lily, slackened his grip.   
  
“See, sweetheart, he’s alive. I know he looks a bit battered, but he’s going to recover.”  
  
Lily shook her head. “No, get away. I saw you killed. You’re ... you’re not Scorpius.” Her eyes flickered wildly. “It’s Teddy, isn’t it? Or someone taking Polyjuice Potion. You think you can fool me, but I KNOW what I saw.”  
  
“I couldn’t move,” Scorpius said clearly. He started to walk, disentangling himself from Victoire as he stepped gingerly to the bed.   
  
Her eyes filled with tears, but she appeared calmer, so when Harry moved away, Scorpius sat on the bed and took her hand. “Sorry, baby-Potter, I didn’t mean to scare you.”  
  
“Don’t call me that. You know I hate it. Everyone knows I ...” She trailed off and her eyes widened in gross alarm. “Everyone knows that.”  
  
“Our first kiss,” Scorpius said quickly, “was in an alleyway behind Quality Quidditch Supplies.”  
  
“What?” she breathed.  
  
“You heard me,” he said. “It was December the twentieth, and Dad had just bought me the Firebolt X.” He paused. “Lily, unless you’ve told someone this, then only I know that fact.” And then he leaned across, whispering in her ear, “I could start talking about the Prefects’ Bathroom, but I think your Dad will hex me.”  
  
Flinging her arms around him, she sobbed into his shoulder, and for all the pain wracking through him, he’d never been more pleased with her embrace.   
  
“I thought you were dead,” she wept. “He said he’d killed you.”  
  
“Yeah, I wondered myself for a moment, or two,” he mumbled, adding anxiously as he pulled away. “And I was worried Davies had modified your memory. But he hasn’t, has he?”  
  
She tried to laugh, but it turned into another sob. “I’d like to not remember believing you were dead, but I can’t. I thought I’d lost you, and ... and ... and that’s all I’ve been seeing in my mind since it happened.” Her fingers touched her forehead and the bandages wrapped around her head wound. “I know sleep’s supposed to be good, but the nightmares ...”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, and tilting his head down, he touched his lips to hers.   
  
Someone coughed, and he suddenly became acutely aware that they weren’t alone, and not only was he sitting on her bed, holding her in his arms in the presence of two Healers, the patient’s dad and his cousin, but two other people had arrived.  
  
“You should be resting!” exclaimed Astoria, sounding flustered as she gave her husband a sideways glance. “Both of you!”  
  
But his dad was smirking. “I think they’re well on the way to recovery, darling.”  
  


***

  
  
Despite worries that the curse Davies had used on Lily might have affected her mind, the Healer’s pronounced her well later that afternoon. The insipient paranoia regarding Scorpius’s death was, they concluded, a side effect of the Draught of Living Death that they’d had to dose her with. Weaned off it, her chirpy demeanour soon returned. The head wound was more of a worry, but with Skele-Gro and Blood- Replenishing Potion, she was recovering. It was Scorpius, hit by two different curses, who had been confined to bed with strict instructions to rest until all the pain had disappeared.   
  
“Do you mind having a visitor?”  
  
Scorpius looked up, later that evening, to see Harry in the doorway. Any fears that Lily might have had a relapse were quickly assuaged by the grin on his boss’s face.   
  
“Ginny’s arrived, and she wants some time alone with Lily.”  
  
“Come in,” Scorpius replied and eased himself up into a sitting position.   
  
“Are you up to answering questions?” Harry asked, sounding hesitant. Scorpius nodded. “Good. Only Davies is spinning several stories, Ginny wants me to leave Lily for a while and McLaggen’s barely coherent.”  
  
“Is Cormac all right?” Scorpius asked, remembering the Stunner he’d taken, and the crack to the head.  
  
“Oh ... yes, he’s fine. He’s still woozy, but no worse than a hangover, and he’s used to that,” replied Harry. He laughed, then straightened his face as if remembering the seriousness of the situation. “Can you tell me what happened?”  
  
After a deep breath, Scorpius recounted everything. Skating over exactly what he was getting up to with Lily in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch, he told Harry how they’d overheard the conversation between Davies and McLaggen. “Except he’d taken Polyjuice Potion, so I thought ... well, we both thought it was Jacob.” He swallowed. “Is Proudfoot ... er ...” He hesitated to say the word. He didn’t like Proudfoot, but had no wish to see him harmed, or even worse, dead.  
  
“He’s here at St Mungo’s. Davies had locked him in his cellar, and drugged him. From what I can gather, when Jacob called round, he saw several editions of _The Daily Prophet_ on the table, open to the pages about Sally-Ann.”  
  
“That’s not proof of anything,” said Scorpius, shaking his head. “Lots of people were following the case.”  
  
“No, but to a guilty man, it probably looked suspicious.” He sighed. “Anyway, it gave Davies the chance to see how we were doing in the case. He took Jacob’s place and came into work. Merlin, he even interviewed Montague. I’m surprised he didn’t insist we brought him in.”  
  
“So that’s why Anthea Proudfoot was so annoyed. He _had_ been deliberately avoiding her.”  
  
Harry nodded. “He had to make himself scarce because there’s no way he could have fooled her. Anyway, carry on with the story.”  
  
Scorpius cleared his throat and continued, the whole day flashing through his mind as he rubbed his ankle where the cord had bitten into his skin. Harry listened intently, taking notes, and making the odd comment, but not interrupting. It was when Scorpius reached the part where Lily had been knocked unconscious that Harry shifted forwards in his chair.  
  
“Davies had another wand? You’re sure about that.”  
  
“Yes. It was Sally-Ann’s. He can’t have returned it to the evidence room. Why?”  
  
Pursing his lips, Harry rested his notebook on the bed. “Davies says you attacked him.”  
  
“Uh, I cast a Body-Bind, but he’d attacked us first.”  
  
“Davies’s current story is that he was on his way to talk to us, but you were desperate for an arrest, so you made it look as if he’d attacked McLaggen and Lily,” Harry murmured, his eyes boring into Scorpius.  
  
“That’s crap!” he protested. “He was going to Obliviate Cormac, and tried to do the same to Lily. He tried to kill me!”  
  
“Yes, I know.” Harry brought his hand down on the bed, and plucked Scorpius’s arm. “He’s clutching at any story he can because he thinks you’re the only witness. He doesn’t realise the Memory Modifiers he shot at Lily haven’t worked.” Taking a breath, Harry let go of Scorpius’s arm. “Now, tell me about Sally-Ann’s wand. How did you disarm him?”  
  
Scorpius closed his eyes, sighing inwardly because he knew this was where, although his memory was clear, the story was shaky. Then, pleating the sheet between his fingers, he met Harry’s stare. “I didn’t. Look, Harry, I know this is far-fetched, but it was the wand. It ... um ... started to spark, and ...” He could feel his face reddening, knowing he sounded stupid, like an eleven-year-old reading about wands for the first time. “Davies tried using it on Lily, and then his sleeve caught fire. I suppose it must have been a spark from the wand. But he dropped it, and it fell near me. I ... uh ... picked it up and ... that’s it really.”  
  
Harry didn’t speak, but began to take notes again, before finally closing his book. “It fell a long way.”  
  
Scorpius shrugged. “Maybe he threw it. He was on fire.”  
  
“Or maybe the wand reacted that way because it knew the killer of its mistress was trying to harm someone else.”  
  
He felt his mouth drop open. The fantastical story he’d been trying to ignore sounded almost plausible from Harry’s lips. “Is that really possible?”  
  
“Wands have allegiances, Scorpius. And Sally-Ann’s wand was supposed to protect her well into old age. I’m not an expert, but yes, I think that’s what happened in this case.”  
  


***

  
  
Two days later, Healer Rackshaw declared she was so pleased with Scorpius’s progress that she would allow him to leave his room, providing he was accompanied. So, using a cane, and Lily’s arm for support, Scorpius limped along the corridors of St Mungo’s relieved that the pain in his legs had receded to a dull ache now. Lily was being discharged that afternoon, not to Hogwarts, but The Burrow for a few days as Ginny was reluctantly returning to South East Asia to finish the Quidditch tour.   
  
“I’m sure Grandma will let you visit,” Lily said chirpily. “She’ll be dying to feed you up.”  
  
“Depends when I get out of here,” he muttered gloomily, not looking forward to the next few days with no visitors except his parents. He supposed he should be grateful that his dad had thrown aside the pretence that they were estranged. He hadn’t asked what ructions it had caused with his grandma, but he had no doubt she knew as _The Daily Prophet_ had splashed Draco’s dash to St Mungo’s with his son across their front page, alongside the equally dramatic story of Lily’s rescue from Davies’s grip by Cormac McLaggen. (Scorpius had tried not to snort when he’d read that; Cormac had saved Lily, but his own rescue by Scorpius had only been mentioned as a footnote. The _Prophet_ might have eased up on its attacks, but it was still skewing any facts to show the editor’s son as a hero.)   
  
“Are you tired? Do you want to go back?”   
  
Her hand rested on his pelvic bone, comfortable around his waist. He shook his head, realising he must have slowed his pace. “Sorry, I was thinking about something else.” He kissed her cheek. “I don’t want to go back. Rackshaw’s bound to have another potion for me to drink.”   
  
She laughed and ushered him further along the corridor, telling him her news, which wasn’t much (a postcard from Al, a letter from Roxy, a visit from Louis) until they reached a large bay window looking down on an enclosed rose garden, hidden from Muggles - an idyll amongst the gloom of disease and disaster. Propping himself against the sill, Scorpius drew Lily close, not kissing, just holding, inhaling the scent of her hair as her hands slid around his waist. His thoughts drifted away from the present and way back to Diagon Alley. She’d smelt of apples that day; she smelt of them now. To his surprise, tears pricked his eyes, and much as he wanted to wipe them away, he couldn’t prevent one sliding down his cheek.   
  
Lily looked up at him. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“I nearly lost you,” he muttered, and buried his face in her shoulder. “I was so scared he’d kill you and I didn’t do anything to stop it -”  
  
“You couldn’t,” she soothed. “He didn’t even attempt to modify your memory. Scorpius, he wanted to kill you.” She clutched him tighter. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about the baby, but I couldn’t believe he was going to get away with it.” Sniffing, Lily pulled away slightly and hoisted herself onto the sill. “Would he really have escaped Azkaban?”  
  
Scorpius shook his head. “We think it was an accident, but he still buried the body and covered up the crime.”  
  
She was silent for a while, brooding on his words. “Dad says Cormac McLaggen was going to share his memories in the Pensieve, and that’s why Davies attacked him. What did he remember?”  
  
“We don’t know. And neither did Davies. But I guess he couldn’t take that risk.”  
  
They sat together, not talking, but mulling over the events that had brought them both to St Mungo’s. Scorpius gazed out of the window, watching the grey clouds scud across the sky, forming and reforming until they covered all the blue. It began to rain, light drops at first, turning heavy, until each pane of glass appeared submerged under water.   
  
“It’s a storm,” he murmured. “Do you want to go back to your room?”  
  
She shook her head. “They don’t scare me now.”   
  
  
After she’d left, bundled away by Ginny and Molly, Scorpius limped back to his room. In his hand, he carried a box full of Cauldron Cakes - courtesy of Molly, which made his progress slower. It wasn’t helped at all by a figure striding purposefully down the stairs, almost knocking him off his feet.  
  
“Gods, I’m sorry,” said a breathy female voice.  
  
About to snap at her to be careful, Scorpius found himself looking straight at a young witch, her dark hair scraped back into a ponytail. She looked drawn and anxious, very unlike the previous times he’d seen her, but for all that, she was unmistakeably the girl from the Zacharias Smith’s party.   
  
“No harm done,” he replied, and tried a smile.   
  
Automatically she half-smiled back, then her eyes widened when she took in who he was. With a wary glance, she edged away, and suddenly the resemblance was so striking, he wondered how he could have missed it before.  
  
“How’s Jacob?” he asked casually.  
  
“They’re keeping him in,” she muttered.  
  
“It must have been nasty for him. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” Scorpius said, “but you’re his daughter, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yes, it’s ... uh ... I’m Helen. And you’re ...”  
  
He laughed, trying not to sound bitter, not after the strain she’d been put through. “I think you know already. I’m Scorpius Malfoy, the man you’ve been stitching up to the _Prophet_ at every opportunity.”  
  
Gasping, she stepped back, but dropping his cane, Scorpius grabbed her arm. “You know something? After everything that’s gone on, I really don’t give a toss,” he murmured, adding some steel to his voice. “You can tell them what the hell you want, but leaking stories about the case - just to get me fired - that’s low.”  
  
“He’s not well,” she blurted out as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t mean what Roger Davies has done to him, but these past few months, my dad’s been so ... _angry_ ... so _bitter_ ... and, I don’t know, but he couldn’t stop talking about the Second War and the friends he lost.”  
  
“And that was my fault?” he questioned angrily. “I wasn’t even born. Gods, does this _ever_ end?”  
  
“I wanted him happy,” she implored. “It’s been going on for a while, but it intensified when you joined the department.” She bit her lip. “Look ... I know I was wrong, and it won’t happen again. Just -”  
  
“Just what? Let you go? Why should I do that? You could have ruined me!”  
  
Lifting her head, she faced him. There was a surprising dignity about her, which he respected, so despite his fury, he dropped her arm. “The reason the Healers aren’t releasing Dad yet is because they think there’s something else affecting him. They don’t know what, but it could explain the past few months,” she said bleakly. “I’ll tell Harry myself, Malfoy, I promise.”  
  
He had no reason to believe her, but for some reason he did. Nodding curtly, he stepped towards his room. She tugged his sleeve.  
  
“Your cane,” she murmured, handing it over. “I’m not sure if this is important, but just so you know, James didn’t want any of the stories that were solely about you. That’s why I went to _The Seer._ ”  
  
“Thanks,” he muttered.  
  
Back in his room, he sat wearily on his bed. It did make a difference, knowing James had refused some of the stories. In a way, Scorpius felt validated that despite it all, he still liked James. And that surprised him, but he knew since meeting Lily, and getting to know her family, that he wanted not only to be accepted, but to accept them as friends. He reached across to the box, pulled out a Cauldron Cake and mused on the difference a missed catch in a game of Quidditch had made to his life.


	22. Epilogue: Uncovered by Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, finishing this on Battle of Hogwarts Day - that's kind of fitting.
> 
> Maybe. :D

It wasn’t crowded on the train, but one carriage was more than making up for the sparseness of people. Rowdy and boisterous, their songs and squabbles could be heard from along the corridors as they celebrated the start of their three-week freedom from Hogwarts. Someone had cracked open a bottle of Firewhisky, which was being passed around the group of young wizards, each taking a slug.

“You couldn’t score with a hag, Mac,” jeered one wizard.

“I’ve done better than you,” Cormac retorted, and started to laugh. “Least I don’t have to practise my snogging on a pillow.”

“Nah, you just practise with your hand every night!” the boy joked. He turned to the others in the carriage. “Sharing a dorm with this guy’s like being in a permanent wet-dream. He can’t keep his hand off himself.”

“Yeah, yeah, I was a prat, Malfoy,” muttered the older Cormac. “We don’t need to stay here, do we?”

Scorpius hid a smirk, but stopped looking through the window, instead examining the train, noting with interest that not much had changed from Cormac’s time to his own. The corridors were draughty, and the paint was peeling, as it always did for that Easter break before they repainted for September. It even sounded the same, a ‘rickety-rack’ clattering sound of wheels on train track.

It was three weeks after Davies’s arrest, a week after Scorpius had been released from St Mungo’s, and Cormac had arrived back from his holiday the day before. Although a strong case against Davies was being built, his advocate was picking at every hole that could be found in the evidence. Cormac’s affirmation that he’d seen Sally-Ann on the Hogwarts Express was one hole, for Davies was adamant that he’d stayed at school intent on revising for his NEWTs. So, once again, Cormac and Scorpius had made their way to Headmistress Vector’s office, flanked by Madam McGonagall and Harry.

The Pensieve had been waiting for them, and Madam McGonagall had deftly extracted the memory, then swirled the silver threads into the large stone basin. At Harry’s urging, Scorpius had plunged his face into the depths, felt a sensation of falling, before landing on his feet in the Hogwarts Express. Cormac followed a moment later, as curious as Scorpius was to be entering the bowl of his memories.

From their position in the corridor, Scorpius could still hear the group of sixth- years mocking each other. It sounded harsh, but he knew from experience that each would give as good as they got. “This is just before you saw her, isn’t it?”

“Think so,” Cormac replied. He stopped frowning, looking up as he heard the sound of a trolley trundling towards them. “Yeah, I saw her buying something from Doris. Oh ...”

Following Cormac’s gaze, Scorpius blinked, for strolling down the corridor, staring intently into every carriage, was a small dark-haired girl. She was pretty, and indisputably the witch from Cormac’s photograph, except for the expression that seemed somehow unsure, but also more calculating, as she peered through each carriage window.

“Sally-Ann,” called out Cormac.

But they were wraiths, visitors from the future and she couldn’t hear.

At Cormac’s carriage she slowed, then with deliberation, she lurched forwards and placed her hand on the carriage door window. It had the desired effect. The boys inside started to whoop, several of them goading Cormac about his ex. Straightening up, Sally-Ann smiled again, and then teetered away down the corridor in the direction of the sweet trolley.

“You followed her?” Scorpius asked.

Cormac nodded. “The lads were joking about it. I was a bit drunk, I suppose, and ... er ... it suddenly seemed like a good idea. Wilf - that’s the boy I shared the dorm with - he thought it was bloody hilarious that I hadn’t been out with anyone since Sally-Ann.”

“I bet you a Galleon, you can’t get her to snog you again, Mac!” Wilf yelled.

Cormac stood up, grinning. “Easy money,” he said, slurring.

“I want some of this!”cried another.

There were several cries of ‘Me, too’ as the occupants of Cormac’s carriage pulled out their moneybags.

“You need to snog her where we can see, though,” Wilf ordered. “Bring her back here.”

“Yeah, right, ‘cause she’ll go for that!” Cormac replied.

“In the corridor, then. We’ll watch.”

“’Cause watching’s all the action you’ll get!”

“I could follow,” someone piped up.

Taking another gulp from the bottle, Cormac shook his head. “I’ll bring her back here,” he decided. Then, with a swagger in his step, he strode out of the carriage.

“Er ... did you really think she’d come back to your carriage and snog you in front of them all?” Scorpius whispered.

Cormac shrugged. “Merlin knows what I was thinking, but I never backed down from a bet in those days.”

Together they followed the younger Cormac, who away from his friends lost some of his bluster, looking far more hesitant as he approached Sally-Ann. At one point, he stopped, appearing to change his mind, but then, after taking a breath, he edged up to the trolley where Sally-Ann was buying crisps and a pumpkin pasty.

“Let me,” the younger Cormac said as he reached for his moneybag. He fumbled it, dropping the bag on the floor and cursing when his Sickles and Knuts rolled across the floor.

“Smooth,” Scorpius murmured.

“I liked her and had drunk a skinful,” snapped Cormac. Then he inhaled sharply. “Gods, I’d forgotten how pretty she was.”

“I can get my own,” Sally-Ann replied. With her foot, she trapped several of the coins and pushed them back to him.

The younger Cormac brushed aside her protests and thrust several coins into Doris’s hand, taking some Chocolate Frogs for himself. “Want to share?”

Sally-Ann studied him dubiously, then took one. Cormac grinned, his mind obviously still half on the bet. As Doris trundled away, he edged towards Sally-Ann.

“So,” he said, a beat later, “how are you?”

“All right,” she replied, and smiled slightly, although, Scorpius noticed, it wasn’t at Cormac. “Glad to get away from Hogwarts.”

“Thought you’d be staying behind to revise.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “No need,” she said, sounding enigmatic. As she moved away, he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “I want to get back to my carriage now, Cormac.”

“How about we meet up over the holiday?” he said quickly. “I’m not far from where you live. We could go to a match, if you want. Dad always gets hold of great tickets.”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, and gently pushed past him.

Surprised, the young Cormac grabbed her shoulder, swinging her back to him. “Come on, Sally-Ann. We had some fun, didn’t we? Can’t we just ... I don’t know, have a bit more?”

To Scorpius’s eyes, she appeared to be considering. At least she wasn’t saying no, so it wasn’t a surprise when the young Cormac leant across, tilted her face up to his and started to kiss her.

She froze, then flinched. He didn’t appear to notice, but searched for her mouth again, his eyes closed. But as Cormac drew her closer, she extracted her wand from the folds of her cloak.

Beside Scorpius, the older Cormac winced as the action was played out in front of him. Young Cormac yelped then collapsed on the floor as the Stinging Jinx she’d cast wreaked its havoc on his groin.

“Merlin, I still remember the pain,” Cormac groaned.

Sally-Ann didn’t look indignant, or angry, or the least bit unsettled by his kiss. Instead, she looked disgusted as she watched him writhe on the floor.

“Don’t come near me again, McLaggen. Ever!” she hissed and strode off, not even giving a cursory glance back.

“Did you see her again?” Scorpius asked.

He shook his head and tearing his eyes away from his writhing self on the floor, he watched as Sally-Ann disappeared from sight. “No, that was it.”

Nodding, Scorpius pulled himself up and away from the train, stumbling slightly as he landed back in the Headmistress’s office. He caught Harry’s eye, but waited for Cormac to reappear before he told his news.

“Well?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know if that was Davies, but it wasn’t Sally-Ann Perks,” Scorpius said.

“How could you tell?” Cormac asked. “I couldn’t, and I’d been out with her.”

“It wasn’t her wand,” Scorpius replied. “You were hexed with something made from a much darker wood ...” He hesitated, unsure if what he said would be valid, but Harry gestured for him to continue. “Also everything about ‘her’ seemed planned. The stumble into the carriage, slowing down by the trolley so Cormac would catch her up; it was all so calculated, but she clearly didn’t want to get back with him.”

“So it was only to provide an alibi,” Harry said and pursed his lips as he thought.

“Is it enough?” Scorpius asked.

“On its own, no. But the fact that he not only covered up the death and had the presence of mind to steal some of her hair and mix with Polyjuice Potion, means his advocate is going to have to be cleverer than Albus Dumbledore for him to escape justice.”

***

Leaving Professor Vector’s office, Scorpius trundled down the seven flights of stairs completely lost in his thoughts. It was quiet at Hogwarts, the Christmas holidays having just begun, and although many of the staff were there, and a few of the pupils, it was eerily silent. Cormac had asked him to go for a drink at the Three Broomsticks, and although Scorpius could see that he needed someone to talk to, he’d put him off - at least for half an hour - because there was someone else Scorpius had promised to visit first.

“Scorpius, how wonderful to see you!” Lavender exclaimed as she enveloped him in her arms. “You have no idea how grateful we are to you.”

As Lavender had sent him a large basket full of fruit, a larger box of chocolate frogs, a long letter expressing her thanks and several pictures of Alexander smiling at the camera, Scorpius had a fair idea just how thankful she was. But he accepted the hug gracefully and with only a small amount of embarrassment when Professor Zabini entered the room.

“Good to see you,” the professor said, holding out his hand. “And you’re fully recovered, I see.”

“Mmm, leg’s a little bit stiff at times, but I’m back at work,” Scorpius replied.

He stayed for a while, enjoying tea and cakes, and they filled him in on the latest news. Tamara had returned to her house, but still visited having struck up a friendship with Lavender and her stepbrother.

“Or rather soon to be ex-step-brother,” Lavender amended. She swallowed some tea, clearly delighted with Scorpius’s start of interest. “Karis is divorcing Jonah.”

“Really?” His head swivelled to the professor who nodded. “But what will she do now? Is she ... um ... planning a ninth wedding?”

Zabini grimaced. “My mother has decided she’d like to be alone. It will be something of a novelty, I think, but she wants to live abroad for a while.”

“Where?” Scorpius asked guilelessly.

“Anywhere she chooses,” the professor replied. He sounded vague, but there was a precision to his expression, not a warning, exactly, but a very definite ‘Do not ask’ across his face.

Scorpius took the hint, and after finishing his tea, he kissed Lavender goodbye. He was halfway across the Entrance Hall when Professor Zabini caught up with him.

“I need some air,” he declared. “A walk into Hogsmeade can’t do me any harm.”

Scorpius frowned a little. He knew the professor too well to know that this wasn’t a sudden whim. Zabini had something on his mind, but didn’t want his wife, or anyone else, listening in.

They had reached the grounds and the empty space surrounding the lake before Zabini spoke again. There were no preliminaries, just one sudden question.

“This Pensieve you used on McLaggen, does it read minds?”

Scorpius narrowed his eyes. “No, it reads memories. Madam McGonagall extracted a memory strand from Cormac, and then we ... well, I suppose you’d say we jumped in.”

“And he was happy with that?”

“He gave us permission,” Scorpius said carefully. “We can’t use it on anyone, you know. The law won’t let us.”

“And it would have to be a specific memory,” Zabini muttered, more to himself than to Scorpius.

“That too,” Scorpius replied. He waited, waited for the professor’s next words, but he was saying nothing, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Of course,” he bluffed, “the Auror department can always apply to the Minister and the Wizengamot for permission if they have reasonable suspicion. Sometimes, especially in old cases, like the Sally-Ann Perks case, it’s necessary.”

Zabini stopped walking, briefly rocking back on his heels. But then he smiled slightly and picked up the pace. “But you have no way of knowing which memory to pick, do you? And I’m sure the Minister wouldn’t authorise something that could destroy a man’s mind forever.”

“A man?” Scorpius queried. “Sir, is that a figure of speech?”

Slowly Blaise Zabini pressed his lips together. He stared at some point in the distance before turning to face Scorpius. “Tiberius Crouch was a bully, you know, who liked to inflict pain on those weaker than himself, especially small children who were under his feet all day and unable to use a wand. And sudden surges of magic in a small child would be punished - very severely.”

Worried, Scorpius tugged on Zabini’s sleeve.“Sir ... Zabini, what are you telling me?”

“I’m merely explaining to you that a small boy, unable to perform magic and punished whenever his emotions got the better of him, might have looked for other ways to seek his revenge.”

“D-Don’t tell me this -” stuttered Scorpius, now fearful. “You need an advocate.”

“I used to spike his mead,” Zabini recalled in a far-off voice. “I wanted it to taste nasty, or to give him an upset stomach. I never dreamt anything I planted in his drink would kill him.” He smiled again. “Perhaps I hoped it would. He was vile to me and even worse to my mother, but ...”

“What did you give him?” Scorpius asked, his breath bated.

Zabini leant closer, whispering, “Nothing sinister, Malfoy. But if I offered up a specific memory, then ...” He laughed briefly. “Who knows what the Auror Department would make of it?”

“You were nine years old,” Scorpius said when the breath returned to his body. “They’d do nothing.” He paused. “Did Scrimgeour know this? Is that why he released your mother?”

“Scrimgeour knew he was a violent man,” Zabini replied. He stopped walking and squeezed Scorpius on the arm. “But he thought it expedient to bury the knowledge of what a bastard Crouch was. Besides my mother was far more use to him out of Azkaban.”

He grinned again, and then, after a last goodbye, trudged back to the castle, letting his cloak billow about him. Scorpius watched him go, unsure what he should be feeling at his old professor’s non-admission of guilt. Karis had murdered Crouch, he was sure of that, but her son would give himself up, certain in the knowledge he’d never be prosecuted, to save her skin. And maybe Crouch’s death was the only murder she’d committed. They had no proof of anything else in her career as a serial widow.

When Blaise Zabini was no more than a dot in the distance, Scorpius shrugged and headed towards Hogsmeade.

***

It was two days later, the twenty-second of December, when Scorpius returned to Hogwarts. There was no thrill in case solving this time. The atmosphere was melancholic. He was here for a funeral, for Sally-Ann Perks was to be interred at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts had been decided as her final place of rest because it had been the place she’d felt most at home, Smith had argued. Madam Sprout had agreed and the pair of them had set about arranging a small burial close to the Garden of Remembrance where the Battle victims were buried.

Scorpius stared at his reflection in one of the highly polished suits of armour. He wore black robes, which made him appear even more pale than usual, and his hair was neat, slicked back, rather than ruffled.

“You look very smart,” whispered Astoria. “I’m sure Lily will still find you handsome.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Mum, we’re going to a funeral. I’m not after a date!” Infuriatingly she smiled, and he felt his nerves tauten. “Why are you here anyway? You never met the girl.”

She stared at him, not affronted exactly, but maybe hurt. And then she sighed. “She could have been me, couldn’t she? But from what you and your father have said, her knight’s shining armour turned out to be very rusty. Killed because she was pregnant. Merlin, I remember how terrifying it was when I found out I was expecting you, darling.”

“But Dad would never -”

She hushed him. “No, of course he wouldn’t. But I was sixteen, he was supposed to marry Daphne, join Daddy in the family business and live _comfortably_ ever after. Marrying Daphne was the Malfoy way back into respectability. I ... ruined all that.”

“You mean I did,” he joked mirthlessly.

She smiled at him, and linked her arm in his. “I prefer to think that we saved him. And Daphne. Gods, they’d have been miserable together.”

He kissed her cheek, smelling the faint rose scent she liked to use and his dad bought her every Christmas and birthday. “So, you don’t regret having me then?” he asked, trying to inject a note of humour into his voice.

She wasn’t fooled, and frowned at him. “Of course I don’t. What has brought this on?”

He looked around the Hall, noticing that although people were starting to congregate, no one was making their way towards the pair of them. “Few people, your old teachers mainly, have told me how bright you were, and um ... well, you know, basically I stopped you getting NEWTs.”

“Saved me from another two years,” she said dryly, and laughed. “Yes, I was reasonably bright, and I could have done well, I suppose, if I’d put my mind to it, but ... Scorpius, I hated Hogwarts. I was a Slytherin, Sorted the first year after the Battle and, sweet Merlin, we were loathed. Even as a Greengrass, with our veneer of respectability, I couldn’t get past the fact that I was in the same House as so many of the Death Eaters.” She smirked a little and adjusted her hat. “I wanted to leave after OWLs, and if Daddy hadn’t agreed, I’d have gone once I turned seventeen, anyway. Qualifications are not everything, but for goodness sake don’t tell the headmistress that!”

“But didn’t you want a career, or anything?” Scorpius asked, pleased but puzzled at his mum’s sang-froid.

“Never too late,” she muttered, and patted her hat again. “What do you think of this?”

Looking her over, his eyes rested on the hat, a small black creation, sombre and elegant, but with a small tilt on the brim giving it a touch of individuality. “It’s ... um ... Oh!” He stepped back and grinned. “Is that one of Tabitha Dobrev’s hats?”

“Got it in one,” she replied, and smiled up at him. “I’m investing in her business. Full partnership. She designs; I sell. We’re looking for premises now. There’s a wonderful place next to that jewellers.”

“That’s ... um ... expensive, isn’t it?” he said, and shook his head because it was clear his mum had no idea about money. “You’d be better off away from the-”

“No, we need to catch the eye,” she interrupted and fixed him with a steely gaze. “Besides, with her niece backing us as well, we have a fair few galleons to play with. And links to the Muggle world.”

“Tamara Flint is going into business with her sister.”

“Her aunt,” corrected Astoria. “Yes, I think she hoped it would annoy Karis. We’re going to make her see that she’s missed out on a glorious opportunity.” She stopped speaking, and raised her hand. “There’s Tamara now. Make sure you compliment her on her hat.”

“Why the hell is she here?”

Astoria pursed her lips and looked at him rather sadly. “Three misfit girls of Hogwarts, darling. Tamara ran away, I got pregnant, and Sally-Ann Perks ...”

“Never left,” Scorpius finished. He looked across the Hall, watching as Tamara picked her way through the small crowd, not entirely surprised to see Felix Frogmore following her. Greeting them (and making sure he told Tamara her hat suited her) he made his excuses when the castle doors creaked open. Harry was there with Hermione, Hugo and Lily. Behind them, he thought he could see Smith and Cormac, but his eyes were only on Lily.

Black didn’t suit here either, making her look even slighter, but that could have been down to the past few weeks, and the worry since that walk back from Hogsmeade the week before Halloween.

Taking her hand, Scorpius followed the others outside. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was for attending funerals as a representative of the Auror Department, but he wanted to be with Lily, and, funnily enough, with Hugo, too, who’d been with them both when Sally-Ann’s body had been unearthed. Shuffling alongside them, Aaron and Genister, both looking sombre, paid their respects then stood in silence by the coffin resting on a mound of earth.

Opposite, the three Hufflepuff girls, Sally-Ann’s dorm mates, but not friends, stood looking sad and perhaps guilty. But Scorpius knew enough about Sally-Ann now to know she’d neither wanted nor needed their friendship. Davies could have been a fresh start for her, but she’d underestimated his ego and utter self-belief, and that had ultimately led to her death.

It was Zacharias Smith’s tribute that caused tears. He was a taciturn man, not comfortable speaking to others, but his stoicism gave way to a trembling voice as he faced the coffin. Someone, Professor Vector, perhaps, had placed a rose onto the coffin, but he pulled out his wand and conjured a daffodil instead.

“She didn’t like roses. I doubt anyone knew that about her, but then hardly anyone knew her at all,” he muttered, and then the tears slipped over the rims of his eyes and slid down his cheeks. He swallowed. “I know some of you are thinking it’s odd to have Sally-Ann buried here. Perhaps you think that she never fitted in, so she doesn’t deserve a Hogwarts funeral. But she loved it here. Discovering she was magic was the best thing that ever happened to her, and she wanted every chance to explore her magic side.” His voice was thick, so he paused before turning his face slightly towards the three witches from his year. “It was only people she had trouble making connections with, despite everyone’s best efforts. She was my friend, probably my only friend at Hogwarts, and I let her down by not being there for her, but I won’t forget her. Bye, Sally-Ann. You’re at peace now.”

Cormac handed him a handkerchief, then, in a gesture that no one missed, he clasped Smith’s hand, holding it tight as he, too, conjured a daffodil and floated it onto the coffin. Scorpius watched as James’s eyes twitched, his nose for a scoop fighting with the need to cover the actual story and not upset his Editor. But Scorpius doubted Cormac and Smith’s secret would remain intact - not down to James - but because Cormac had already decided to talk to Lavender. If the _Prophet_ wouldn’t print the story, she’d find a paper, or a radio broadcast that would, such was her standing in the world of journalism.

Scorpius stepped forwards. He withdrew a wand, a wand of pale wood, from his cloak, kissed it and uttered a small prayer of thanks to the girl who had saved not only him, but also Lily. Mr Ollivander had been unsure if a pine wand could be reunited with its owner so long after the early death it should have prevented, but Scorpius had been determined to try. He glanced across at the wandmaker now, reassured by the concentrated expression on the old man’s face, and then he knelt by the coffin and gently placed her wand on the top.

There was silence, a collective halt of breath, and just as it seemed nothing would happen, the wand shivered. Before the eyes of everyone who’d gathered there to say goodbye, it glimmered and then sank slowly into the lid of the coffin, as if absorbed into the wood.

Wands weren’t always buried with their owners, Ollivander had said, because the families thought it prudent to retain a spare. And Sally-Ann’s coffin had been sealed before Scorpius’s release from hospital. But wands had their own minds, he knew that, and Sally-Ann’s knew it could only serve one mistress.

He stepped back, reaching and finding Lily’s hand without looking for it, and held her tight. Her shoulders were trembling a little, but her face was calm, if a little frozen in its expression.

“Well done,” she murmured, squeezing his hand.

“She saved us,” he muttered back. “Returning her wand was the least I could do.”

“That man over there’s been watching you,” whispered Lily, directing his gaze towards a prematurely grey haired man standing at the back behind Madam McGonagall. “Who is he?”

“Graham Montague,” Scorpius muttered and said no more because Professor Vector was glaring at him as she prepared to speak.

She spoke as the headmistress of Hogwarts, out of duty, but not of love or any kind of recognition. Sally-Ann Perks had been a name to her but not a face. Not one of her chosen pupils as his mum had been. And yet, even if she had been chosen, would Sally-Ann have confided in the stern Arithmancy professor, when she couldn’t even bring herself to talk to her far more sympathetic Head of House?

_Madam Sprout would have understood,_ he thought. She’d certainly had sympathy and understanding for Astoria, so why wouldn’t she have helped a girl from her own house? What had it been about her life that Sally-Ann had felt she could only confide in a house-elf about the pregnancy? His eyes widened. He glanced again at Montague, a man broken by a prank that went so wrong. And yet, in breaking he’d changed, become something kinder and more open than his former mindset had allowed.

 

When the earth had consumed the coffin, and a sprinkling of small daffodils began to sprout through the ground, the mourners dispersed. Scorpius detached himself from Lily, and, avoiding his mother and Tamara who were getting on far too well for his comfort, he stepped over to Graham Montague, who stood alone by the lake.

“”You’re Malfoy’s son, aren’t you?”

Scorpius nodded. “I was there when Sally-Ann was discovered and have been working on the case.”

“That Auror,” Montague muttered, “the one who interviewed me. Potter says it was Davies. Is that true?”

“He’d taken Polyjuice Potion,” Scorpius agreed.

“Davies told me there was proof I was the father of her baby,” Montague replied and screwed up his eyes as if shielding them from the sun, although the day was cloudy. “I thought he was bullshitting and told him to get lost.” He gnawed at his lower lip. “Is there any proof?”

“No,” Scorpius replied, inwardly sighing. His dad had been unable to glean any more information from the diary. He was still working on it, but the curses had strengthened with age and non-use, so he’d regretfully told Harry there wasn’t much more he could do.

“I could have been, though,” Montague said and wiped his hand over his face. “At least I think I could have been. It’s ... frustrating because I remember her so sharply at times, and then she disappears and I’m not sure if I’ve imagined being with her simply because I’ve been told I knew her.”

“For what it’s worth,” Scorpius ventured. Then he stopped, unsure this was necessary.

“Tell me,” Montague urged. “I’d like your opinion.”

“Okay. Well, I know you weren’t popular at the time, not amongst the other Houses. I mean my dad wasn’t either, so it’s not a problem for me. And I don’t think it was for Sally-Ann because she wrote about you very warmly.”

“There’s a but, I think,” Montague said.

“It was a bad time at Hogwarts and no one else would have understood. She kept you a secret from Smith, and the only other person I could see her confiding in had no idea she was pregnant. Madam Sprout would have helped her, I’m sure, but maybe not if the father was a Slytherin and also working for Dolores Umbridge.”

“So she fixed on Davies, despite the fact they weren’t going out anymore?”

Scorpius exhaled. “He was popular. He was the leader of a crowd and that’s what Sally-Ann craved, and then with you stuck in hospital and your memory shot to pieces, she must have thought Roger was her only choice.”

Montague stared back at the lake, whistling out a breath through his teeth. The ever-present vagueness in his eyes appeared to have been replaced by something deeper, and it was in a firmer voice that he uttered his next words. “I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d known. I don’t remember much about that time, but she was pretty and I do know in those days I was nothing special.”

“You _were_ a Quidditch captain, and went out with her for quite a while,” replied Scorpius softly. “And despite keeping it secret from the other Slytherins, I think she must have meant more to you than a one night stand.”

Montague swallowed, muttered his thanks and strode away. He nodded at Cormac, shook hands with Smith and then took the path towards Hogsmeade, perhaps unable to scrape together any more words and memories for Sally-Ann.

“You okay?”

Scorpius turned and smiled at Lily. She looked so small and sad, bundled up in a black cloak too big for her. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replied. “Just wondering about things.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like why people lie about what they are? It wouldn’t have bothered someone like Hannah Longbottom where Sally-Ann came from. She’d have befriended her whatever her background. It’s not as if -” He faltered.

“What?”Lily whispered.

“It’s not as if her family were Death Eaters, is it?” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Stop it,” she said. “That’s not you, Scorpius, and you know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, smiling down at her and the trust she continued to show him. As he gathered her close, knowing Vector would think this highly inappropriate but not caring at all, he felt something dig into him.

“I forgot,” he said and fishing inside his cloak, pulled out a small bag. “Early Christmas present.”

She didn’t make the same error that Harry had, at least he was pretty sure she didn’t expect a marriage proposal because there was no nervousness or disappointment when she opened the velvet box.

“They’re beautiful” she breathed.

“Merlin’s left bollock, what’s going on?” James Potter, quicker off the mark than ever Scorpius on his Firebolt X had been, stormed over to them, clearly misconstruing the situation. “Lily, you know that ... uh ... you’re not of age, don’t you? Mum and Dad like Scorpius but they’re not going to-”

“They’re earrings, silly!” Lily said and flashed the box at her brother. “You should take lessons from Scorpius. It might help you hang on to a girlfriend for longer than a week.”

“Damn, no scoop!” James said cheerfully. “Ah well, can I have an interview instead, Scorpius?”

Shaking his head, Scorpius pulled Lily close to him. “Maybe later, but not now, okay?”

“Quick couple of questions then, so I can get this report filed,” James persisted and without waiting for Scorpius’s assent, he fired a question at him. “What are your feelings about Davies?”

Scorpius thought carefully. There was a quiet satisfaction, true enough, and he was more relieved than he’d thought possible that Davies would be spending a considerable amount of time in Azkaban, but it didn’t seem right to celebrate. Not after everything they’d been through. Not after uncovering a body and solving the murder of a victim that no one had missed.

“I’m pleased he’s facing justice,” he said.

“Do you think Sally-Ann would have been happy to be buried here?” James asked, fishing for a new angle. “Has Smith messed up? Only, from what I’ve heard, she didn’t like Hogwarts.”

Scorpius smiled, and the image of the young girl, effortlessly pretty, fragile-looking, but with a backbone of steel, wisped in front of him. He glanced across to Smith, now talking to Susan, with Cormac by his side. And then he looked away, his eyes straying to the path Graham Montague had taken. His mum’s words span around his brain. “She had a friend or two, but Sally-Ann was a misfit,” he replied at last. “Too scared of other people’s opinions to admit the truth about herself, and the sad thing is that Hogwarts was the only place she did truly fit, but she never realised that.”

“So she’d have been happy with Smith’s choice?” James persisted.

“She’s finally at peace in the place that would always have accepted her, if only she’d given it a chance,” Scorpius replied firmly.

Pausing for breath, Scorpius said no more, unable to think of anything else to say. And sensing this small interview was over, James moved off to speak to Harry.

“You’re right,” said Lily, clasping his hand tight. “She’s at peace now.”

He didn’t ask how she knew. They had a connection to the dead girl, not just because they’d discovered her body, but also because Sally-Ann had lived again, albeit briefly, and saved them both from Davies.

“So many secrets unearthed by that one storm,” he murmured, staring at the forest in the distance. “I wonder how many more there are, just waiting to be uncovered.”

“Not between us, I hope,” she replied, and standing on tiptoes, she kissed him softly on the cheek.

Scorpius raised her hand to his lips, and mused to himself that maybe James’s assumption of a proposal wasn’t that outlandish - just a little premature. He smiled as he drew her closer. “Never between us, Lily. Never between us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has stuck with this story and for all your reads and reviews. Special thanks to Karaley Dargen for beta'ing this tale, and being incredibly encouraging. This has been fun and frustrating to write. At times I became so obsessed, I dreamt about Scorpius and wished him to be real. He's made me laugh far too much to be healthy - heh heh.
> 
> For those of you who were enquiring about a follow up story: I'm sorry but I don't think I have it in me to write more Potterverse stories. I really appreciate all the interest, kudos and comments,though, so thank you very much.


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